A Sting at Midnight
by Hadrianna
Summary: A homicide leads Peter and Olivia to a dark club and soon turns into a quite painful and life-threatening experience for the both of them. Hurt!Peter and Hurt!Olivia after some initial chapters. Rated M for violence and language.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** Set season 2 before Jacksonville. A homicide leads Peter and Olivia to a dark club and soon turns into a quite painful and life-threatening experience for the both of them. Hurt!Peter and Hurt!Olivia after some initial chapters and rated M just for safety for violence and language.

**And a warning:** Olivia's chapters are a little bit... well, _weird._.. in the beginning, both in style and in content. There is a deeper meaning with the madness, but it will take a while to emerge as it is an important part of the story, so please bear with the weirdness :p

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Fringe or any of its fantastic, loveable and handsome characters *sigh*.

XXXXX

The sting of the _Leiurus quinquestriatus _scorpion is deadly. A sharp pain in the palm, a feeling of shock, panic, then the terrible heat that spreads through the veins, followed by numbness. Trouble moving. Trouble breathing. Heartbeat stops. The sting of a scorpion kills. The scorpion...

… The scorpion is irrelevant. The scorpion doesn't count. The only thing that does count is the beat of the music. Oomph. Oomph. Oomph. Moving through every inch of her body. Oomph. Oomph. Oomph. She sways to the rhythm of the music, one feet to the left, then to the right, head to the left, head to the right. Oomph. Oomph. Oomph. Her black hair – _black, it isn't black! Shouldn't be black!_ – falls in front of her vision, blocks her vision. Oomph. Oomph. Oomph. She shakes her hips, left, left, right, right, left, left, right, right, the rhythm is faster now. Flows through her. Is one with her. Oomph-oomph. Oomph-oomph. Oomph-oomph. She feels a drop of sweat forming on her forehead, feels it run slowly down her cheek before it drips down on the floor. The stroboscopic light makes her feel dizzy, but she dances, dances, dances like there's no tomorrow. Maybe there isn't. She doesn't care. _She should care. This is important. Something is important. But what?_ She only cares about the music, the beat that gives her the power to live. Oomph-oomph. Oomph-oomph. Oomph-oomph. Right feet left, left feet right, turn around, sway the hips, move the head, feel the hair. Her arms move on their own, as do her feet, as does her body. _Remember. Important._ The blue light reflects on her pale skin – _shouldn't be pale_ – and she shakes her body faster or her body shakes her, she doesn't know. She doesn't care. Oomph-oomph. Oomph-oomph. Oomph-oomph. _What are you doing, Olivia?_ A weird voice. Not hers. Not that she remembers what her voice sounds like. It is not important. Only the music is. _The sting. Remember, the sting of the scorpion is deadly._ How would she know? She is not a biologist. Is she? She doesn't remember, and it's not important. _But it is, Olivia!_ Olivia – is that her? Is that her name? It sounds unfamiliar, and the voice that calls her by that name sounds unfamiliar. Male. Deep. Concerned. Unfamiliar. Unimportant. Lost in the rhythm. _Oliv_Oomph-oomph. _Oliv_Oomph-oomph. _Oliv_Oomph-oomph. Her body takes her to the right, takes her to the left, turns her around, her hair in front of her eyes. More sweat on her skin, cold against the heat of the dancefloor. White smoke blurs her vision, smells funny, not bad, just funny. Ghosts in front of her. Maybe she is a ghost. Lost to the music. Maybe they all are dead. _Like Emily_. Like who? She doesn't know an Emily. She doesn't know an Olivia. She doesn't know any Peter. _Peter_. _Important._ She doesn't know and she doesn't care about anything. Music fills her every cell, fills her with life, fills her with happiness. Oooomph. Oooomph. Oooomph. _Something important. A mission. Emily. Dead like Emily. Who is Emily?_ _She knows she should remember, but it is so hard, so impossible. Like every thought has to fight its way through a thick layer of syrup. _Impossible. Not worth it. Nothing is. And so she dances.


	2. Chapter 2

„Olivia. Olivia", Peter whispered into the concealed microphone. He could see her right there, on the dancefloor, moving her body in motions he hadn't even thought possible for her usually quite rigid self. No offense intended. If they weren't here on a mission, he would even have enjoyed experiencing the all new Olivia Dunham. But they _were_ on a mission. So he tried to reach her again by breathing: "O-li-vi-a!" into the device. No reaction. She didn't as much as blink. Maybe she couldn't hear him over the loud music in here? The weird sound of some dark techno, screeching metal and a combination of song and spoken words was ubiquitous and seemed to have enthralled the once-blond agent. Peter's lips turned into a lopsided grin as he watched the dyed black hair, parted into a ponytail and an open part by a slender, pointy hair pin made out of bone, fly wild in every direction as she shook her head violently to the rhythm of some heavy piece of music. The short black lace skirt and the leather corsage were complementing her well trained body with her long, slender legs far more than the usual boring work outfit, and her skin was almost glowing due to the white make-up she had used to make her disguise as perfect as possible. Meet Olivia Dunham, FBI-Agent and, apparently, convinced Goth. It had its charms, though the way she just kept on going and going to tunes that he knew she hated was just plain unnatural. On the other hand, he had never seen her act as an undercover agent. Maybe she was just _that_ good! But if she couldn't hear him, all her acting was for nothing – they had to stay in touch in case one of them actually was lucky enough to find a clue. But even though he had tried to match her outfit with tight fitting leather pants, a black tank top and a leather jacket, he knew he couldn't just walk down to her and make physical contact. As long as they didn't know anything about this case other than the victim, it was better not to show potential culprits that there was more than one on the case.

Especially considering that they were doing this unbeknown to Broyles (or anyone else for that matter) and thus seriously were lacking back-up. This was no Fringe case, after all, and until now everything screamed crazed murderer or possibly a serial killer. But this wasn't just a case. This was something that actually meant something to Olivia. And therefore, naturally, it meant something to him. Still, he had protested loudly against her so-called plan in the beginning, asking her to leave it to the Boston Police Department and officer Hanley, but somehow she had managed to talk him around. He still wasn't sure how she had done that. So now they were standing inside the newly opened Vampire Club Goth at the heart of Boston, looking for signs of anything suspicious and without their headsets working. Fun-freaking-tastic. Honestly, these people were wearing dresses that could have arisen from the baroque and renaissance period, they were dressing up in leather and rubber, in … uhm, well, _interesting_ black-and-white French maid dresses and weird looking Samurai chainmails with glowing green spirals in their hair, many of them with chains and spikes around their necks and wrists, and shoes that made them at least a head higher and looked more like torture instruments than like footing. Speaking of torture: In the middle of the dancefloor, a large cage had been placed, complete with iron chains dangling from above. And there was actually a young man with his shirt off dancing inside it! Seriously, how could they make out anything _suspicious_ in _here_?

As he looked back at Olivia, he noticed a tall, blonde woman in a wide, dark red baroque dress dancing quite close to his partner. A little too close for his taste. For a moment, he couldn't see Olivia due to the lady's impressive size and whispered "Olivia!" once more into the microphone to make sure she was safe, but then the lady turned away from her and moved to the other side of the dancefloor. Well, what had he expected? That she was going to kidnap or kill Olivia right in the middle of all those people? He shook his head at the notion, then his gaze went over the black mass of people dancing in the red and blue light, carefully screening every single one of the pale and heavily painted faces for the third time this evening. Nothing. They all looked like they were in the same kind of trance as Olivia and none of them seemed to focus their attention on anything else. For a second he thought that the youth in the cage caught his eyes, but then, as he turned his slender body in an agile pirouette, his shoulder-long, nut-brown hair fell in front of his face and the moment was gone. He took another sip of his beer and put his attention to those customers who lingered around the dancefloor and stood at the three bars that were placed in each corner of the club. Most of them were men between the ages of twenty to forty who were sipping at beers the same as him while keeping a close eye on the swaying forms of female buttocks, breasts and hips. In his head he heard the chilling voice of a computer character he long had thought forgotten. _Hmmm... Fresh meat_. The thought sent shivers down his spine. As few suspects as he had found in the dancing area, as many were sitting and standing away from it, though he couldn't know for sure. Not everyone staring at _fresh meat_ was a psychopath, after all, even so the world felt like that after he had joined the Fringe division. One man with shabby, long hair and an earring in his left ear drew his attention because of the way his tongue flicked at the head of the bottle that he held in his hands. It was disgusting, but so was the older woman standing a few feet away from him. By the look of it, she was a size double XL. By the look of her dress, she was wearing a size medium, that had been pressed around her body by help of a corsage, with _pressed_ being the correct term. Her pink flesh tried to make its way through the cords that held the leather item, and between the corsage and the black tutu a sizeable chunk of belly tried to fight for its freedom from the constraint. The make-up on her face had distorted her rough features even more, turning her into an eerie zombie-like creature. But Peter was pretty sure that she wasn't trying to abduct or _murder_ anyone here besides maybe the manhood of every guy she looked at. Next to her, flanked by two broad-shouldered men who spoke together vividly, sat a young girl of maybe 20 or 21 years. She looked a little bit lost and her eyes seemed to move through the club restlessly as if looking for something, but never resting anywhere longer than a few heartbeats. Peter couldn't be sure from this distance, but he thought he saw a tear glister on her cheek. Was she waiting for her boyfriend who hadn't showed up? Or had she just been left heartbroken? Peter shook his head and looked at the next customer. The girl with the blonde curls was none of his concern right now as she sure as hell wasn't trying to find a potential victim for the night. The tall, slim guy next to her, however, just might've been... His ice-blue eyes were staring intently at the dancefloor and as Peter followed his gaze, he discovered one woman in particular that had caught the man's interest. Olivia. Great. As inconspicuous as possible, Peter kept an eye on him and took every detail in in order to uncover what the guy's intentions were. He was wearing dark blue jeans and an elegant, black shirt with silver buttons. His black hair was quite long, almost to his hips, and made his already slim face look abnormally long. The skin was snowy white and seemed to almost glitter in the light of the spotlights. Even his lips were the same, pale colour and formed a thin line that only parted once in a while to allow a sip of red wine in. _Looks almost like a cliché vampire_, Peter thought. Normally, an observation like that would have caused him to grin dismissively, but the firm stare that the _vampire_ held on his partner was far too unnerving for any kind of a smile. He followed the man's gaze and had to admit that he could understand his reaction. Olivia was still moving gently to the rhythm of that terrible noise as if completely lost to the world. The ice-queen facade that usually surrounded her had melted away in the shimmering lights on the dancefloor and gave her a seductive kind of beauty that he had a hard time not to fall for. It wasn't like he hadn't thought about her in that way before, but his musings always came to an abrupt halt when he thought about the importance of their professional relationship. This wasn't the right time to open himself up to her – hell, this wasn't the time to open himself up to anyone. And yet... seeing her dance elegantly amidst all those people, smiling like nothing in the world concerned her anymore...

Peter blinked and returned his attention to the vampire dude, but he was already gone. Whether or not that was a bad thing, he couldn't say. His intuition told him that something was fishy about the guy, but he wasn't too sure how much of a help his intuition was in a place like this, and _that_ was never a good thing. He looked at the cage on the dancefloor once more, at the young man, and couldn't help but notice the wave of emotion in his eyes as their gazes met: fear, anger, despair. Then the youth turned away and left Peter with a feeling of confusion. Was he just imagining things? At any rate, he couldn't shake off the feeling that they were in way over their heads.

"Olivia", he tried again without succeeding and finally made the decision he should have made before they entered this club: He stood up, found his cellphone in his pocket and made his way towards the entrance area to tell Astrid about their whereabouts. Just in case.


	3. Chapter 3

As he passed the bar to his left and climbed down the stairs to the ground level, he found the vampire dude again, standing closer to the dancefloor and still staring at Olivia as if his life depended on it. Not good. Maybe he should just get over there, grab his partner by her hand and pull her out of here right now, but he knew she would resist and draw unwanted attention towards them. Calling Astrid was his best course of action right now. But before he could continue on his way, he noticed two things at the same time: One, the young girl from the bar came running down the stairs with her blonde curls fluttering behind her and a shriek of terror on her lips that was drowned out by the loud music, but was clearly visible as she was quite close to Peter. Two, the youth in the cage stopped his monotonous dance and paled at the sight of curly girl. His lips formed a single word, probably a name, and he was at the bars within an instant, grabbing them with both hands like he wanted to part the solid steel with sheer brute force.

Peter was surprised that the cage was actually _locked_; up until now he had thought that the man with the brown hair had been dancing inside it to impress the ladies, but his desperate attempt to break free proved him wrong. He looked around at the dancers, at the customers at the bar close by, but none of them showed even the slightest interest in the events that were unfolding right in front of them. Even Olivia, and that was the strangest part, just continued her dance without even looking up. Behind curly girl, the two broad-shouldered men that had sat beside her came thundering down the stairs with heavy steps, but they were too slow for her. She managed to slip past a pair of grasping hands and jumped over the railing that separated the dancefloor from the bar area with one swift motion, landing directly between a group of five of those Samurai guys. For a fraction of a second they stopped their movements and stared at her angrily, but as she just dove by them towards the cage they returned to their almost zombie-like movements as if nothing had happened. Weird. Definitely weird. Peter was still standing like a frozen statue when curly girl reached the bars and touched the fingers of the young man through them. It was clear to anyone – or at least it should have been – that they were both in distress, and yet... He didn't dare interfere as long as he didn't know what this was about and as long as he risked blowing his and – what was even worse – Olivia's cover. Beside him, the vampire guy was laughing as he watched the two big men follow the girl onto the dancefloor and plough through the dancers like wild horses through a crowd. Though a few of the girls actually reacted by screaming this time, they went back to dancing as soon as the men had passed them by. One of them even gave Olivia a hard shove that sent her flying into a group of three girls in French maid dresses, but neither they nor his partner paid any more attention to the scene. Then they had reached curly girl. The man to the left dug his fingers into her hair and pulled her back from the cage brutally, while the other one punched the youth in the face hard enough that he was thrown to the other side of the cage where he connected painfully with the bars.

"What the hell...", Peter whispered before he could stop himself. He wanted to do something, anything really, to stop this madness, but he just couldn't risk it.

"You're new here, aren't you?", the vampire dude noted at Peter's words and made a cheerful gesture with his wine glass.

Peter decided to go along with it and tried not to stare too intently at the dancefloor. "Yeah, friend of mine recommended this club, but..." He faked a helpless smile and shrugged to emphasize the notion.

"Don't worry", vampire dude grinned and flashed two fake fangs that sent shivers down Peter's spine. "They're hired to create the right, sinister atmosphere. It's just roleplaying."

The explanation made sense. Still Peter doubted it when he looked back at the four … role-players … One was holding the girl with both hands around her chest while she was struggling furiously with her legs flailing left and right. The other man had produced a key from his pockets and was opening the cage, while the youth was cowering on the other side, staring fearfully at curly girl, then at the man in front of him. When the broad-shouldered guy reached him, he made a weak attempt at sprinting past him and out of the cage, but was grappled by his long hair and pulled brutishly back into the middle of the steel contraption. His attacker drove his knee into the youth's abdomen and exploited the few seconds it took his victim to get back to his feet to catch the young man's left arm and bind it to the ceiling with one of the two iron chains. Peter could see the panic in the youth's eyes, as his right wrist was caught as well and left him dangling helplessly in the middle of the cage. By now, tears were streaming uncontrollably down curly girl's face and it sure as hell didn't look like acting. But it _did_ contribute to a quite sinister atmosphere: Those dancers closest to the cage were cheering; some girls even reached into the cage and tried to touch the defenseless youth who was writhing in his constrictions and shouting the same name as before.

"They're quite good", Peter murmured in order not to alarm the vampire guy by seeming far too shocked by recent events.

"The best", the guy answered with the sly grin that apparently had frozen onto his long face. Then he turned his attention back on Olivia who was dancing towards the cage right now and seemed to take the picture of the shirtless man hanging there in. Peter couldn't believe his eyes: She smiled. She actually smiled! If he had had his suspicions before, he now had solid proof that something was wrong with his partner and probably had been ever since he had lost the connection to her. Dammit! He should have acted so much sooner! With a curtly nod he moved away from the creepy guy with the fangs, left the dancing area and entered the corridor leading towards the bathrooms at the end and the entrance to the right. He was staring at the display to find Astrid's number on the speed dial, when some guy stepped in his way so unexpectedly that Peter hadn't the time to evade. He crashed right into the man's broad chest and lost his hold of the cellphone due to a brusque gesture by the other man that probably meant _Watch your step!_ and catapulted the device right out of his hand.

"So sorry, Sir", the guy said with a heavy Eastern European accent. He was more than a head higher than Peter and probably twice as broad-shouldered as him, and now that Peter had the time to actually take a good look at him, he recognized the man who had chained that poor boy to the cage. God, he hoped this was a coincidence.

Deep down he knew that it just couldn't be when he brought two steps between them and went down on one knee to pick up his phone. He didn't take his eyes off the guy who just stood there with a blank expression on his rough features, ready to defend himself at the slightest sign of tensioning muscles. _Five steps to the entrance, glass door, probably not locked_, his mind already told him details worth remembering in case he needed to make a run for it. Unfortunately, the next piece of memory came just a fraction of a second too late. _Two men_, his mind remembered in the same instant he heard the familiar _click_ of a gun being cocked and registered the far too familiar feeling of cold metal on his neck that made his heart rate accelerate violently.


	4. Chapter 4

"Hands behind your head", the other attacker said in the same accent that reminded him of the way Dracula always spoke in those old vampire movies. Another cliché. This place truly sucked – though hopefully not literally. With a last resigned gaze at his phone and slowly, very slowly as not to alarm his attackers, Peter did as he was told and lifted both hands and entwined his fingers behind his head. His heart beat painfully hard against his chest, but he forced himself to calm down and said in as firm a voice as he could muster: "Is this how you treat all your customers? Because I have to tell you, this won't do anything good for your reputation."

The man behind him sneered: "Only the ones who are actually police officers".

Damn. Had he been that obvious? He hoped that his feelings weren't far too easy to read when he shot back: "Then please explain to me what _I_ am doing on the floor with a gun to my head?" As he spoke the words, he looked up at the guy who had cut off his way out, but apparently the appearance and the blank gaze were deceiving: Maybe he wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he wasn't stupid either.

"You were going to call for back-up", he said and pointed at the useless cellphone only a few feet out of Peter's reach. In this situation, it might as well have been on the moon.

Peter knew when he had lost, but up till now he wasn't sure how much those guys actually knew and whether Olivia's cover had been blown too, so he tried to lure more information out of them by continuing to play dumb: "Actually, I was going to call a friend of mine to tell him how cool this place is. Now, I'm not so sure."

As he had expected, the lie angered his attackers even further. He felt how the gun was pressed harder against his skin and the brute strength of the guy behind him forced him down on both knees. The blood was by now rushing through his veins with the force of the Niagara Falls and he only barely heard one of them say: "Enough with the games!". The one who had stopped him knelt down and reached for his right ear, where he expertly discovered the tiny headset that Massive Dynamics had designed to be inconceivable. _Great job, Brandon_, Peter thought with a sigh.

"Where's your partner?", he was asked as his attacker pulled the device out and looked at it with narrowed eyes. On the inside, Peter gave a sigh of relief, but on the outside he exploited endless nights of poker games and stayed completely calm. "I told him to get out about fifteen minutes ago. So I would wager he's already on his way back with back-up."

The guy just stared at him in disbelief before turning the headset into dust by simply crushing it between his fingers. Peter couldn't help but gulp at the man's strength and apparently his attacker could sense his fear, because his lips turned into a lopsided grin. "See, I do not believe you. Vladimir says nobody has left in the last half hour. So unless your partner is a ghost or invisible, I do not see how he could have left."

It took all of Peter's self-control not to grin broadly at that comment. The bluff had worked. They were convinced that his partner was a man. That was at least something in this situation. "Maybe _Vlad_ took a little nap and is too embarrassed to admit it", Peter retorted and made an attempt to raise his head when he heard voices behind him. Two girls were chatting lively and coming closer. He wasn't sure whether this could help him, but it was better than nothing as they would be a distraction either way. The man with the gun allowed him to look up, but he didn't seem to worry about potential witnesses at all. Dammit.

"Ohhh, look at this!", he heard one of the girls say with an excited sound as they passed him and his two captors by. He even managed to catch her eye for a heartbeat, but the only reaction the pretty brunette showed when she noticed the weapon that threatened Peter's life was a deep sigh and a: "Awww, that one's really cute!" directed at him. Under normal circumstances that comment might even have made him blush just a little bit, but there was nothing _normal_ about this situation. He just stared at her with wide-eyed disbelief, until he remembered what the vampire dude had told him about the roleplaying part in this weird, weird establishment and everything made sense. Well, kind of. If the girls suspected that he and the two bulky guys were actors and this was part of the usual ambience, then no wonder they just continued their trip to the bathroom giggling like teenagers. But at least they were still proving to be just the right distraction, and if fake vamp 1 and 2 could turn this into entertainment for the crowds, then so could he. With renewed hope, Peter noticed how the guy in front of him turned his head to stare after the long, bare legs revealed by the very short leather skirts (or were they actually just broad belts?), and even the attacker behind him decreased the pressure on his neck for a little bit. If they actually suspected that he was a police officer, that was quite a careless move, but who was he to complain? As imperceptibly as possible, Peter tensioned his muscles and readied himself for what he hoped would be a short, but forceful assault, then he took his chance.

With a dexterous movement, he threw himself to the left and out of the line of fire, then grasped his cellphone with his left hand before turning on his side as he fell and crashing his right foot against the gunman's knee with as much strength as he could muster. The stomach-churning cracking sound and the high-pitched scream told him that he had hit jackpot, but there was no time to bask in his success. Before the other man had time to absorb the shock of his victim's sudden actions, Peter scrambled back to his feet and drove his elbow directly into the guy's solar plexus in one swift motion. It felt as if he had hit solid concrete and he cursed under his breath as pain exploded all the way through his arm and chest, but at least he was rewarded with the tell-tale wheezing sound that followed when someone had a hard time breathing. Then he made a run for it.

Five steps to the door. Probably not locked. Four steps. Three. Then the sound of a gun that was fired reached his ears and he tossed himself to safety behind the counter near the entrance, just in time to see the glass of the front door shatter to pieces. Well, at least now it didn't matter if it was locked. And the guy with the fractured kneecap wasn't that good a shooter in his current condition; even if Peter hadn't evaded, the bullet would have missed him by a few feet. It was now or never. Peter took one deep breath, then catapulted himself away from the counter and towards the shattered door, protecting his face with the leather jacket. The next shot was as far off as the first and he heard a loud Czech curse follow him out into the cold night air. With flying fingers, he pressed the dial button that still stood on Astrid's number, held the phone to his ear while he was running and …

...suddenly found himself colliding with a wall that apparently had emerged out of thin air. With a grunt of pain he stumbled backwards, stars exploding in front of his eyes before turning his world black.


	5. Chapter 5

Peter couldn't have been out for more than a second or two, but the next thing he discerned were three blurry feet next to his face that came crashing down angrily on three cellphones lying on the tarmac. They were instantly transformed into three piles of tiny, useless, electronic bits before turning into just one pile slowly. He probably should have felt fear, even panic at the sight of his last lifeline gone, but right now his head was hurting so bad it drowned out every other emotion. He felt a warm liquid trickle over his eyes, his nose, tasted blood in his mouth, and he had to fight down an overwhelming sensation of nausea. For maybe three seconds his world only consisted of his desperate struggle to keep down the half bottle of beer from before while making a feeble attempt at getting back onto his feet. Then he suddenly had other things to worry about, mainly how to breathe with the weight of one quite furious fake vamp on his back. He was slammed back on the ground before he even had made it to his knees, and every last bit of air was forced out of his lungs by the pure force of the impact. His attacker pinned him down by pressing a knee against his spine before grabbing Peter's left arm and twisting it brutally behind his back. Peter could feel icy cold metal around his wrist that locked in place with a quiet _click_, then his right arm went through the same rough treatment and he was pulled unceremoniously to his feet. Everything was still a blur and his body was far too busy with restoring its natural oxygen level to allow him to put up any noteworthy resistance, but he did hear at least two voices arguing loudly in Czech with the words _madness_ and _necessary_ being the only ones Peter understood in his dazed condition. He blinked in the hope of getting a better look at his surroundings, but only achieved that more blood obscured his vision. Still, he could make out the well-lit entrance to the club in front of him that was by now flanked by half a dozen people in their crazy vampire and Goth outfits. If they still thought this was an _act_, then there was seriously something wrong with them! He couldn't make out the guy with the hurt knee, but next to him he spotted the other attacker, which meant there was bound to be a third one who had brought him down. Peter vaguely remembered the name of the guy behind the counter; Vlad. Only he hadn't been behind the counter when Peter had tried to take cover, which meant he had probably been waiting for him outside just in case he actually managed to leave the club. Which he had. Dammit, this wasn't his night...

The guy holding him and the other one were still discussing something – his fate, most likely – while forcing him back towards the club. As they reached the line of spectators, Peter wasn't even surprised when all of them began to applaud and the brunette from before exclaimed with a delighted shriek: "God, I loooove this place!"

If he had been able to, he would have given her a frosty reply, but right now he had other things to think about than sick teenage girls and their weird sense of amusement. How to make it out of here alive, for instance. More importantly, how to make sure Olivia made it out of here alive. Peter briefly wondered whether the connection to Astrid's cellphone had been established before his phone had been called from its mortal, electronic life, but even if that had been the case, there was no way she could track the call now. Why, why, _why_ hadn't he said anything to anyone?

Because Olivia had asked him not to. Right. If they actually did make it out of here with their hides intact, he would kill her. If. That was a pretty big if, he thought as he was dragged past the club's crazy customers and through the open door. Some guy was already working on the shattered glass with plastic foil and duct tape, but Peter barely noticed him through the red veil in front of his eyes. He understood the word _partner_ spoken in Czech and began to look for Olivia in the crowd, that had formed in the corridor, without thinking. And there she was. His heart almost stopped when he discovered that she was standing next to the vampire dude, but as far as he could tell it was pure coincidence, because the guy wasn't even paying any attention to her. Instead, he grinned broadly and shouted: "Dude! You really got me there!" as Peter was shoved harshly on and passed his partner by. He didn't dare look at her for more than a heartbeat and even that short notion felt like an immense betrayal; his captors didn't know who she was, couldn't know, and yet … He couldn't risk it. Still, what he saw in that flicker of a moment concerned him. Olivia was staring at him with unnaturally wide, strangely cloudy eyes and an almost other-worldly smile as if she didn't recognize him consciously, as if he was just an amusing, but unimportant part of the interior. If he didn't know any better, he could have sworn that she was on some heavy drug. While that meant that her cover probably wouldn't be blown just yet, it also meant that he was completely on his own, handcuffed and beaten as he were.

God, how he hated this club.

XXXXX

She doesn't want to stop her dance. The dance is her life, it's what's keeping her alive. Oomph. Oomph. Oomph. But something is happening. Something has broken the rhythm of the music. A weird sound that does not belong here. A gunshot. Somehow that concerns her, just briefly, and she remembers the voice in her head. _Olivia_. _Olivia_. The voice that has been gone for … oh, she doesn't know. It's not important. Time is not important. Still it lingers on, somewhere in the deepest, darkest corners of her mind. She doesn't know an Olivia. Or an Emily. But does she know any Peter? The sound reminds her of that name. The sound concerns her. The sting of the _Leiurus quinquestriatus_ scorpion is deadly. Why is that fact important? How does she know that?

The music continues, but it is in the background now, oomph-oomph, oomph-oomph, oomph-oomph. For the first time, she discerns the dancers around her, all of them suddenly standing still, looking at something, then moving like one towards the place where the sound came from. She hesitates. She wants do dance. She can feel the life flow from her body with every second she doesn't live for the rhythm. But she is curious. Something is important. So she follows. Swaying her hips with every step, exploiting the sounds of the bass that shakes the floor, oomph-oomph, oomph-oomph, oomph-oomph. The others around her break the sacred sounds of music with laughs and words. "I love this club!", she hears. "Their shows are incredible!", another one says. "Boy, that one's cute!", a girl next to her exclaims. She looks up and agrees. She sees something that fits neatly into this place. A man in a black leather outfit with a pained expression catches her eye. She guesses that he is thirty, maybe thirty-five, with close-cropped, dark hair and sincere, yet worried green eyes. Between his distinctive eye-brows, a steep crease makes him look quite angry. He has blood on his forehead that emerges from a small wound on his temple and trickles down into his right eye. It makes him look kind of rough. She likes it. She likes him, and for a short moment of time, the music is drowned out by a voice in her head screaming a name. _Peter_. _Peter!_ Then the man and two large guys pass her by and the beat of the music returns into her body and she turns around to return to the dancefloor. The others are right. God, how she loves this club!


	6. Chapter 6

Peter wasn't quite sure whether he was relieved by or afraid of Olivia's weird behavior. As he was pushed and shoved halfway through the club, he saw how she just returned to the dancefloor as if nothing had happened, as if everything had been just an act. Well, concerning all of the other customers, it had been. He still didn't understand how the owner of this club had managed to convince so many people of the fact that far too realistic violence was nothing more than _roleplay_, but then again – he had fallen for it himself. The poor boy in chains and his curly girlfriend and their distress flashed in front of his eyes, when he looked back at the cage. He had actually made himself believe that vampire dude had been right, that it had been a very convincing act, so why would other people think differently as they watched him being threatened by a gun, being beaten up and taken captive?

An act. Whoever owned this club must have had some very impressive and probably quite theatrical marketing skills. And whoever owned this club... Peter had seen her before. When he had watched Olivia dance. In close-up, she seemed even taller, almost a head taller than him and almost as broad-shouldered, and her baroque costume was quite more dramatic and wide. If he should guess her age, he would have to go with late 20s or early 30s, but it was hard to be sure with all the makeup she was wearing: Her eyes seemed to lie deep inside her skull and seemed to be twice their normal size due to dark grey and black shadows around them, and her lips were a somber, somehow unhealthy purple. As she came closer, a musky odor reached his nostrils, like wet dirt, like rotten flesh... It was disgusting and reminded him of death. Come to think of it, she actually reminded him of someone more dead than alive; a cliché vampire bride if ever there was one. An angry vampire bride, come to that.

Luckily, her rage wasn't directed towards him.

His two captors had pushed him through a door behind the bar in the farthest corner and into a small office that was crammed with two desks with laptops on them, several cupboards filled with books, and everywhere stacks of paper were lying around. Oh, and in one corner, he noticed a whimpering Czech that held his knee while being supported by a smaller man that Peter hadn't seen before. If looks could kill... _Ah well, better not think about it_...

Apparently, the room was soundproof, because when Vlad closed the door, all sounds from the bar were completely deadened. It grew silent enough to hear the vampire bride's deep breaths, before she, after a long, intense look at Peter, asked with barely concealed fury: "What. Is. This?"

"According to the ladies out there, this is our new star", Vlad answered grudgingly and nodded towards the guy with the shattered kneecap. Peter, who had looked at the vampire bride until now, sent the doorman a gaze which he hoped expressed something like: _Seriously? Know your audience!_, all the while he tested the strength of the handcuffs. As he had feared, without a key he could forget getting those off any time soon. But at least his blurry vision was gone by now and his head didn't feel like an army of garden gnomes had decided to start a mining operation up there. Not that it didn't still hurt, because unfortunately it did and made it a lot harder to think coherent thoughts.

"I think you may leave now, Vladimir", she - Baroque, Peter decided to call her - whispered in a tone so icy that Peter could feel the small hairs on his skin rise. Vlad finally sensed the tone and left with an old-fashioned bow. Upon opening the door, the music turned loud enough for every other sound to be drowned out, then an uncomfortable silence replaced it.

"As for you two idiots", Baroque hissed and Peter could see how the two large guys winced. The one on the desk even let go of his battered knee for a second. Peter didn't really understand why the baroque lady was so angry – after all, her henchmen managed to eliminate a potential threat, but he didn't need to think about the question for long, because she answered it herself, when the guy closest to Peter muttered: "But... you said... I thought..." and was interrupted by a harsh gesture.

"I asked you to keep an eye open for anyone suspicious! Not to _attack_ anyone suspicious!", Baroque shouted in a voice so shrill, it hurt Peter's ears and brought back the massive headache. Great.

"But... he... clearly he wasn't ent-", the guy with the knee brought forth between clenched teeth. Peter couldn't help but feel a little bit satisfied at the sight. Aw, screw that. He felt _really_ satisfied.

Before the guy could finish his sentence, he was interrupted by an angry hiss. "Well, if Vladimir – if all of you had done your work properly, he would have been!"

Now that statement didn't make any sense, but Peter really hadn't the time to think more about it, because the man gave a silent whimper before continuing his pleading: "And he... he... was going to call for back-up..."

"And so _what_?", Baroque shot back as if she had only waited for his objection. "If you had warned me, as I asked you to, they would have come, they would have looked and they wouldn't have found anything!"

"But... the girl... your brother...", the first guy began with a look at the man in the corner, who flinched at every word as if being hit by the lash of a whip. "If they..."

"My brother isn't the problem here", Baroque said in a sudden whisper and a dangerously low voice. "And if you ever use my family as an excuse for your incompetence again, it will be the last thing you do in your pathetic life." With that, she opened her mouth in a demonstrative gesture and showed two long, sharp fangs in front of her normal row of teeth. For some reason, they didn't look fake, at least not compared to vampire dude's choppers. Still, if Peter's life hadn't been as _fringy_ of late, he probably would have discarded any idea of a real life vampire, but considering everything else he had witnessed in the last few years, this wasn't even the most unbelievable thing.

So it was a Fringe case after all. Wow. Somehow that didn't really make the case any better for him considering that there was no way to tell Broyles about this interesting (and quite unfortunate) turn of events. If only there was something he could do. There had to be a way out of this for the both of them. But if there was, he just couldn't see it.

"I'm... I'm sorry, Mistress Morgan", the first one stuttered and backed as far away from her as possible in the tiny room. Peter would have done the same, but that meant moving closer towards the guy whose kneecap he had shattered, and somehow he didn't think of that as a desirable option either. So he just held his ground and waited for _Mistress_ Morgan (God, how cliché were they trying to make this?) to continue the conversation. She shook her head as if reprimanding a child and replied with a sigh: "I'm sure you are, Boris, but the problem remains. What to do with this one, and how to find his partner?"

Peter had a few suggestions concerning these questions, but somehow he was sure they wouldn't want to hear any of it.

"I think you should take a closer look at our _customers_", Morgan began, and Peter didn't like the way she pronounced that last word. She almost made it sound like a taunt. "See if you might find anyone else playing with a headset or looking for someone. And fetch Vlad to help Gregor with that knee. Nice work, by the way – maybe I should hire you instead of those idiots", she suddenly mentioned to Peter with something like a twinkle in her dark eyes. Then she turned back to Boris and stated matter of factly: "One vial should suffice."

Peter felt like most of the conversation just went directly over his head. He hadn't been en... en... en-what? What was that guy going to say before he was interrupted? And a vial for a shattered kneecap? A vial of what? A miracle? He would have loved to get more information, but Boris just stomped past him, turned towards Gregor and helped him to his feet – ah, foot, actually. As they limped back to the door, Peter couldn't help but smirk at the sight, which Gregor acknowledged with a growl and the dooming words: "I won't forget this." Though the threat seemed sincere enough, it seemed rather ridiculous when combined with the clumsy attempts at making it through the door and back into the club.

But the sentiment instantly disappeared from his face, when Morgan turned her head towards him with a long-drawn sigh. "Now", she whispered, "What to do about you?"


	7. Chapter 7

When she turned around to face him, Peter felt his heartbeat accelerate. This was it. His mind had raced furiously the last few minutes, trying to find anything that might help him out of this situation, but there was nothing. Frustration wasn't a good enough term to describe what he was feeling right now. There was _nothing_!

"So, mister...", Morgan began and closed the gap between them with two decisive strides. The smell of death grew even worse. "I didn't catch your name." Her smile was sweet in the way a puffy snow leopard was sweet up until the point of attack.

Peter had a number of replies at the ready, one more snappy than the other, but right now he couldn't see any advantage in angering his vampiric foe even more, so he turned his lips into as cheerful a smile as he could muster. "It's Peter." But he couldn't keep himself at bay completely, so he continued: "I'd give you a proper greeting, but my hands seem to be stuck."

Morgan put her head to the side and watched him with those deep, dark eyes, but she wasn't angry. Yet. "Don't worry, I'm not all that into conventions anyways. Peter." When she spoke his name, her tongue flicked quickly in and out of her mouth as if she was trying to somehow _taste_ the feel of the name. The thought sent a shudder through his body, but as long as she kept that tongue (and more importantly the fangs!) to herself, he wouldn't complain. And as long as she kept it away from Olivia.

"You put me into a difficult position, Peter", Morgan continued and began moving around him. He turned with her and kept his eyes locked onto hers. If she suddenly jumped him with those fangs, he wanted to be ready.

"Can't be that more difficult than the position you put Emily in", he gave back calmly, trying to study her reaction, but she didn't even as much as blink. The guy behind him, the one that had supported his attacker, however, was a different matter. He gave a hiss at the name, followed by the sound of long nails scratching on metal. Ouch.

"So that _is_ why you and your partner are here", Morgan replied just as calmly and without acknowledging her brother. Her gaze never left Peter's.

Olivia had been right. He had had his suspicions, but now he actually knew that the poor girl had been murdered by someone in this club. And he knew that this was a _fringy_ case too, by now. Unfortunately, there wasn't anything he could do about any of it. "That's why we _were_ here. As I tried to tell your bonehead of a henchman, Oliver left before me." Another bluff. Hopefully, she would fall for it too.

She didn't, but it might have been an act from her side to make sure he told the truth. With slow, controlled movements, she went over to the desk to the right, leaned against it and said: "I don't believe you. You were still talking to someone through that headset of yours just before you tried to leave. But don't bother protesting, it's quite easy to find out the truth." With that, she gave her brother a nod and he left his corner with a skeptical look in her direction. That wasn't good. What was she talking about, _easy_? Did she mean a lie detector? Death threats? Torture? Whatever it was, it really didn't calm him down, when she added: "But don't you dare drain him, Mortimer. We still need him."

How reassuring. Peter automatically took two steps back, but was stopped by a cupboard. Book titles caught his eye: A History of Vampirism. Interview with a Vampire. Vampires – Truth or Myth? A screamingly pink edition of Dead Until Dark. Then Mortimer had reached him and tried to grab his wrist. Peter made a feeble attempt at evading, but the lack of space and his still lingering dizziness were working against him. The touch of Mortimer's hand was ice cold and had an almost skeletal feel to it, but the grasp only lasted for a fraction of a second and culminated in a quite painful sting on his palm like that of a bee, which Peter answered with a curse through clenched teeth. Then the man hurriedly moved away from him and Morgan tried to catch his eyes once more, speaking in a soothing tone of voice: "It's alright, Peter. You feel completely safe here. We are your friends."

_Great, now she's lost it, _Peter thought with confusion. Was she trying to hypnotize him? He rubbed his palm with the fingers of his other hand and briefly wondered, whether Mortimer had injected him with some kind of truth serum (by now, nothing would have surprised him), but that wouldn't require Morgan to speak to him like he was a child. And he didn't feel any different. Maybe he should just play along, feeding her the same kind of information he had shared before? Would she know?

Morgan made the choice for him. Her eyes narrowed as she said: "It's not working."

Mortimer's eyes widened as if in fear: "I didn't do anything! I just gave him the glamour!"

The glamour? Seriously, what was this, True Blood? On the one hand, Peter was relieved that whatever they had tried to poison him with didn't have any effect on him. On the other hand that meant that Morgan would have to apply different methods to obtain the knowledge she seeked. And if glamour really meant for them what it meant in the series, they had no way to erase his mind and make him forget everything he had seen here, which again meant that they couldn't just let him go. Not that he had had any illusions of such an easy escape anyways.

"I'm not saying you did something, dear", Morgan tried to calm him. "But I can't sense his mind at all."

Should he say something? Right now he had the feeling that they didn't even notice him anymore. Maybe he should just make a run for it, see how far he would come.

The vampire bride gave a deep sigh. "But I still _do_ blame you. You and your damn greed did it _again_, and it's only been weeks this time. _Weeks_!"

Mortimer suddenly looked a lot more pitiful than before and whispered, accompanied by silent sobs: "I didn't mean to kill her! Or anyone... I just... I just... I just couldn't..." At that, Peter looked at him in surprise. That was at least some information he could use to his advantage. Apparently, they weren't just coldblooded killers. Or so he hoped. He hadn't quite given up on the idea that maybe he was dealing with psychopathic vampires here. Wow, he never thought he would have to use those two words in the same sentence.

"...you just couldn't stop", Morgan finished for her brother. "And if I had cast aside all logic, then I really wouldn't blame you. After all, she _did_ taste fantastic. But so did the others."

Those words were just plain wrong, and their effect probably wasn't, what Morgan had had in mind. Because suddenly, a hungry glint appeared in Mortimer's eyes and apparently, all thoughts of Emily were forgotten. So he was just a psychopath. "If the glamour doesn't work on this one, maybe he tastes different too...", he began, and Peter was just about to object feverishly, when Morgan took matters into her own hands. Within a heartbeat she was at her brother's side and gave him a resounding slap in the face that was followed by a surprised yelp.

"No more bites for you before you learn to control yourself, you foolish thing!", she hissed with bared fangs that lent her an even more dramatic look.

"But... but I _can_ control myself! Emily... she was special", Mortimer whimpered and Peter was surprised to see a single tear make its way down the vampire's cheek. At least it wasn't blood-red.

"And apparently, so is he", Morgan retorted and pointed at Peter, who felt rather like a spectator to some bizarre horror-movie. If it hadn't been for the handcuffs and the fear for Olivia's and his own life, it would have felt completely surreal. And he had to get back into the game fast, so he decided to simply interrupt their family drama with a simple statement. "So, vampires."

Morgan looked at him with a mixture of compassion and annoyance that was hard to place. "As far as I know, there is no such thing as a vampire", she finally answered softly. After all Peter had seen, her words didn't make any sense. The so-called glamouring, the fangs, the lust for blood... then again, everything was so cliché that it couldn't be as easy.

"Then what are you?", he asked with a queasy feeling.

Morgan just shook her head in a reply, but then seemed to make up her mind and said: "If I knew that, I guess we'd be living quite differently. I know what we can do, and I know what we have to do in order to survive. Anything else... well." She shrugged and for a second, she almost looked like a helpless and scared little girl.

"Well, you certainly do fit the profile", Peter gave back. He was almost surprised when he felt his muscles relax slowly as the immediate threat of being... eaten... was gone, and finally his headache subsided too.

Morgan laughed quietly at his words. "As far as I know, vampires don't have stingers to poison their victims with", she explained and held up her hand for Peter to see. The gesture exposed a long, slender sting that came out of her palm and retreated again so fast it was almost impossible to see. "And I do love sunlight. And garlic, for that matter."

"And blood", Mortimer added behind them as if he hadn't understood the point of the discussion. His words instantly made Peter tense his body again. The threat wasn't gone, only postponed. How to get out of this? How, how, how? With his mind thinking furiously, he tried to keep up the conversation – as long as they were talking, they at least weren't draining him for his blood. "Then why this show?", he demanded to know and did his best to seem impervious to Morgan's crazed brother. The second he spoke the words, at least part of the answer came to him and he continued: "Hiding in plain sight?"

"That too", Morgan admitted. Somehow it confused Peter that she kept on talking about herself and her _condition –_ if she wanted to kill him, why not just get it over and done with? "But mostly, it's about the taste." There it was again. The taste. If he hadn't felt nauseated from the fight before, the thought of how blood tasted differently to these _creatures_ would have done the trick. "The blood of someone happy, unburdened, it's... ah, there is nothing like it", Morgan said with an infatuated smile on her full lips. "Nothing. But the blood of someone afraid, terrified... Now that's just disgusting."

Peter had to fight back a gag reflex. So they weren't just psychotic pseudo vampires. They were _picky_ psychotic pseudo vampires. Oh, he should write that down. Maybe one day, he might actually laugh at that ridiculous phrasing. But it sure as hell wasn't today.

"So you... what", he began, "You choose one unlucky customer each night and –". Morgan interrupted him before he was forced to utter the unthinkable. "Of course not!" She actually sounded offended, which would have surprised him if he had any emotion of surprise left in him after this evening. "We pick all of them, and they usually don't even notice."

"Emily", he heard Mortimer whisper behind him at that. Morgan proceeded unwaveringly. "The tiny twinge of our fangs can't break through the trance. That way, no one gets hurt."

"Apart from Emily", Peter remarked.

Morgan's eyes narrowed, but she remained calm. "That was a mistake. A terrible one, but a mistake nonetheless", she replied with a side-glance at her brother.

"And apart from me."

This time, Morgan sighed. "Also a mistake. But it's too late to do something about it. We can't make you forget, apparently..."

Peter snorted and said with a growl: "Apparently."

"...but we can make sure that your partner... Oliver, right? … that he gets out of here alive. That's the best I can offer." Her smile seemed to be honest enough, but it didn't change the fact that her so-called _deal_ left him for dead in this scenario. And that he didn't believe her words for a second. Yes, he believed that the part about Emily was true and that her death had been a mistake (the pathetic creature in the corner was proof enough), but her threat concerning him also showed him far too clearly that she hadn't learned anything from it, so it was far too dangerous to expose Olivia. So he decided to stay true to his story and muttered with a sigh: "As I have told you on numerous occasions, by now Oliver is gone. G-O-N-E. And considering that I was supposed to follow him and haven't made contact yet, I guess he'll be back with a search warrant any minute now."

Seemingly, Morgan didn't believe him either, because she simply shook her head. "Oh, Peter, that just won't do. _If_ he actually had left and _if_ he was to come back with the cavalry, he would have done so _by now_. But we haven't heard anything. You know what that tells me?" She looked at him expectantly, but he refused to answer the rhetorical question. "It tells me that he has been glamoured and is quite happy and inattentive right now. It tells me that you two are on your own. So you either reveal his identity to me and I make sure he lives, or I will force him out of his trance. And believe me, that last option will be quite painful for the both of you." She hesitated a short moment, then her lips turned into a lopsided grin. "Well, mostly for you. So it's your choice, really."

Peter tried to stare her down and to ignore the growing feeling of panic he felt arising inside of him. "There isn't a choice, really", he finally managed to utter a reply in as strong a voice as he could muster.

Morgan's smile never faltered as she said: "Well, at least you'll go out with quite a show."

Now _that_ didn't sound too good. But Morgan didn't enlarge upon her sentence and instead reached for an old-fashioned phone on the desk and muttered: "And I better make some calls."

XXX

How much time has passed? Sometimes, for a short time, she feels tired. Her body feels tired. The music is the only thing driving her on, dancing, dancing, dancing to the perpetual rhythm of the oomph, oomph, oomph. She feels the sweat streaming down her face by now, her black hair – _blond, blond, blond!_ – sticks wet to her skin. This time it takes her longer to register that something is happening. Her eyes are semi-closed, her focus is on the small spot of dancefloor that she can see below. She hears the excited screams of the girls next to her, but it takes her longer to react. Her head feels heavy, so terribly heavy, as she tries to lift it up to look at the reason for all the racket. It's him again. The pretty guy from before with the blood on his face – _Peter, Peter, Peter_, her mind screams. But it's not important. Nothing is important anymore. Neither the sting of the scorpion, nor the slit throat, nor the names rushing through her head. _Olivia_, _Emily_, _Rachel_, _Peter_. She can't stop them, but she does her best to ignore them. They are irrelevant. Or so she tries to tell herself.

_Then why do they keep on coming?_

There must be a deeper meaning, but it keeps to elude her.

A large and ugly man is standing behind the pretty one. She doesn't like him. His face looks cruel. But he is irrelevant, so she ignores him, and this time it comes to her easily. Pretty guy is being dragged towards the cage where the boy had been playing his role quite well. He looks up, looks weak and defeated, and she is really impressed by his skills. As another man takes him down, he almost slumps into his arms as if there is no strength left in his body. She hears a few girls sigh at the sight, a young one in a black-and-silver dress even makes a sound of discontent, but then begins to smile and returns to the dance. The dance... She knows she has to dance. The dance is her life. But somehow this is important. And so she watches him struggle as he is dragged into the cage.


	8. Chapter 8

Peter hadn't been sure what to expect from Morgan's words, but most certainly not _this_. He used all of his strength to fight against Boris as the larger man held him in a vice like grip and brought him closer and closer to the cage in the middle of the dancefloor. The dancers halted their movements and parted as if acquiescing to a silent command to let him and his captor move through, and there, on the other side of the iron monstrosity, he discovered Olivia. She had stopped dancing as well and was now staring at him through glassy eyes. Was she even noticing him? He remembered the sting on his palm as Mortimer had tried to poison him and wondered how long the venom would course through his partner's veins. And how she would react once she was called back into reality.

Oh God, he just hoped that she wouldn't give herself away.

Vladimir had walked behind them, but now he surpassed them with three fast steps, opened the door to the cage and freed the youth with clearly experienced motions. The boy couldn't even stand on his own legs and was half dragged, half carried away by the other man. Peter just hoped he was reunited with his curly girlfriend and that Morgan kept her word that no one else was being harmed at this club. Considering the brutality of what he had witnessed before, Peter couldn't help but doubt that a little bit of poison could make both of them forget. Then again... Another glance at Olivia told him how powerful this stuff actually was.

When he was being shoved up the three steps to the cage, Peter made a desperate last attempt at breaking free by simply throwing himself against his captor, but apparently Boris had as much experience with forcing people into the cage as Vlad had with freeing them: He simply held his ground (the 50 or so pounds he had on Peter certainly helped), then grasped both his arms and forced him into the cage with clear annoyance.

The words "That's for Gregor" were a fair warning of what was about to happen, but inside the contraption there was no way Peter could dodge. A vicious punch into his stomach brought him to his knees and a violent blow to the head returned both the pain and the dizziness and made him helpless as Boris opened the cuffs, tore both his leather jacket and his tanktop from his body and forced his arms up towards the shackles on the ceiling. His attempts at evading the inevitable were countered with an irritated elbow stroke to his face and the next thing he discerned was the terrible feeling of metal closing around his wrists once more. His captor was still standing in the open doorway behind him and suddenly held something in his hands that Peter couldn't see clearly out of the corner of his eye.

"Try and fight your way out of this", Boris spat and his lips turned into a distorted grin. Even if Peter could have replied – which he couldn't at the moment, courtesy of the brutal treatment – he would have kept his mouth shut this time. There wasn't anything he could have said to make matters better anyways, and there was no reason to make them worse. He had no idea what exactly that Morgan lady had planned to get Olivia's attention, but the words "forcing him out of his trance" combined with the fact that he now found himself inside a cage on the middle of a dancefloor with most of the customers staring at him with wide eyes told him all he needed to know. And so he just stared grimly at the mass of dancers on the other side of the bars, wondering what kind of venom could make so many people enjoy the sight of the blood trickling down his face after the rough treatment. Most of all he wondered what Olivia saw that made her smile as world-enraptured as she did.

Then the first lash of a whip hailed down on his back and her serene expression changed.

XXXX

The feeling is weird. Something cold and warm touches her cheek and it takes her a moment to understand that it is her own tear that is making its way down from her eye to her chin. A tear... A picture flashes in front of her eyes, a pretty blonde woman, crying. Rachel.


	9. Chapter 9

_Rachel had been crying when she had last seen her. Teardrop after teardrop had fallen down on the photograph she had clenched between her fingers. Olivia knew the picture as she had seen it countless times on the cupboard by the kitchen. Rachel and Emily in front of the Eiffel Tower in Paris._

"_It's... It's... my fault", Rachel sniffled and looked up at her sister. "She asked me to tag along, and now... now she's..."_

_Olivia knelt down beside her and did the only thing she could do in a situation like this: She gave Rachel a long, intense hug while whispering soothing noises into her ear. "Shhh...", she breathed. "It's not your fault... Honey, it's alright..."_

"_Nothing's alright!", Rachel shot back with angry tears glistening in the corner of her eyes. "Emily's gone! I haven't heard from her in two days and we were supposed to meet yesterday! She doesn't answer her phone and her mom has no idea where she is, and nothing is ALRIGHT!" The last word, she screamed out in a shrill voice._

_Every word cut Olivia like a knife. There was nothing she could do, and she felt so terribly, terribly helpless. Still, she decided not to go into the discussion. Instead she just stroked Rachel's hair gently and whispered: "We'll find her, Rach. Don't you worry. I'll do whatever I can. Don't you worry."_

_The sobs didn't stop, but at least their rate grew slower._

"_I... I didn't want to go to that club", Rachel continued after a while with a stronger, but far from firm voice. "But Emily... She was so into it. That Vampire Club Goth, you know, with the crazy advertisements, with the freaky vampires and the girls in leather outfits. She so wanted to go, but I had a headache and wanted to stay at home and then she went alone and now she's... now she's..."_

_There were a lot of things Olivia could have said, reaching from _Maybe she just met someone nice there and forgot to tell you _to _Maybe her phone is broken_, but her intuition told her that it wasn't that easy. And unfortunately, her intuition was usually right._

XXXX

She blinks in confusion. She doesn't understand. The daydream – the memory? – had come so suddenly, it had overwhelmed her. Before her, the pretty guy grunts in pain as another whiplash hits his back. The sound mixes with the bass and creates a weird rhythm of ooomph, oomph, wshhhhhh-snap. Oomph, oomph, wshhhhhh-snap. Sweat is dripping down his forehead, his muscular chest, mingling with blood. That must hurt like hell. Hurt, hurt, hurt. A slit throat must hurt. Until you drown in your own blood.


	10. Chapter 10

_The girl had been quite beautiful once, with flowing red hair, full red lips and stunning blue eyes. Olivia remembered her well, as she had seen her on numerous occasions. Maybe that was the reason why she was so much more shocked by the sight of the body than she would have been normally after joining the Fringe division. Even though Emily had been fished out of the Charles River more than an hour ago, she was still drenched and a thin layer of ice had begun to grow on her hair and her naked skin. Her eyes were broken and stared up at the winter sky in silent accusal as if blaming God himself for her cruel fate. The detail that hurt Olivia the most was the wide, red gap under her chin, almost like a caricature of a smile. The water had washed away the blood and the cold had contracted the flesh to open up for the mortal wound even more. It was a stomach-churning sight._

"_Yes, it's her", she said tonelessly to no one in particular. "That's Emily Roberts."_

"_She was found an hour ago", the police officer next to her explained, officer Hanley, if she remembered correctly. "But the coroner thinks she's been in the water for at least a day and a half." Hanley looked at Olivia with a combination of interest and scepsis in his eyes, but she didn't answer his unspoken question just yet. Inside, she was still trying to calm herself. Her intuition had told her what had happened before she had known anything about Emily's murder, but she had tried to ignore that annoying little voice at the back of her head. But what could she have done beside flagging women between the age of 30-35 with red hair, blue eyes and a small tattoo of a dragon on their back? And now, only hours after her talk to Rachel, she had been called to a crime scene where the victim matched her description. She hadn't even had the time to investigate Emily's disappearance. No time to check out that club. No time to ask around. How could she tell Rachel after all the promises she'd made?_

_Hanley didn't give up that easily. "Agent, not to sound rude or anything, but as far as I see it, this isn't a federal matter, or do I miss some information here?"_

_Olivia really wasn't in the mood of discussing technicalities right now, so she just gave him as arrogant a look as she could muster and replied: "Why don't you let me worry about that?"_

_Hanley stared at her for about half a minute before he turned away with a shrug and barfed some commands at the other officers at the scene. Good. She needed to be alone right now._

_She only got a few seconds with her thoughts, then a hand was placed on her shoulder and when she looked up, her gaze met Peter's warm, concerned eyes. _

"_He _is_ kinda right, you know?", her partner remarked. It was impossible not to hear the sorrow that resonated in his voice; after all, he had met Emily on several occasions too, and he had been as shocked as Olivia by recent events. "I am sorry, but there is nothing... well, fringy, about this. And I am sure officer Hanley is fully able to take matters from here."_

_For a second, Olivia had to fight back a single tear that tried to struggle its way out. He was right, of course, but that didn't mean it was fair. None of this was fair. Emily didn't deserve this, and neither did anyone else – so yes, maybe there was nothing "fringy" about this case, but there was still a killer on the loose and she was already too deeply involved in this emotionally to just let it go. With a last decisive look at the mistreated body, Olivia got to her feet and turned towards the coroner. As she handed him her card, she said: Please call me with the results of the autopsy." In the background, she noticed Hanley's disapproving look, but fortunately he didn't interfere with her demands. She knew Broyles would never condone her unauthorized action, and Hanley had, theoretically, the right to call her superior to confirm the FBI's involvement in this case. Peter had to know that too, because he sent her a significant look, which she ignored deliberately._

XXXX

Another one. It still doesn't make any sense. She is surprised to feel another tear on her cheek as the pretty guy lets out a gasp. He is an actor, she knows, and a pretty good one at that. His make-up artist is doing a great job too, as the wounds look quite realistic and hurtful. But when she looks at him, the music loses its importance and she grows tired, her body feels tired. As if looking at him somehow is too exhausting. She wants to turn her back on him and dance, dance, dance, follow the rhythm of oomph, oomph, wshhhhh-snap, but...


	11. Chapter 11

"_Don't you turn your back on me with that look!", Peter snarled and caught up with her with three fast steps. "I know that look. You're planning something, aren't you?"_

_Olivia sighed inaudibly. One of the disadvantages of working so closely with someone was definitely that they knew you far too well. Still, she was grateful for Peter's attention as it for some reason sent a comfortable shiver down her spine and filled her with a calming warmth. So she decided to share her thoughts with him._

"_You know that Emily was found in the river, right?"_

_Peter nodded and cocked his head to one side as if he didn't really understood what she was getting at. "Yeah?"_

"_And that she went to that club I mentioned?"_

_Again Peter sent her a confused look. "That Vampire... Goth... Thing, yeah."_

"_That Vampire Goth Thing is only a stone throw away from the river", Olivia finally let the cat out of the bag._

"_So you think she was actually killed there?", Peter concluded with a raised eyebrow. Then his eyes narrowed and he understood the _actual_ meaning behind her words. "You want to go there."_

_Olivia sent him a shy smile that she hoped would conceal how insecure she was about her own idea. But right now she just hadn't a better plan. "It can't hurt to take a look, can it?"_

XXXX

Apparently, it can. The pretty guy – Peter, it must be this Peter guy from her visions – is living proof of that, she thinks as she struggles with her body that just doesn't want to turn around. And so she just stares at him, stands still and stares and lets herself be consumed by visions, memories, thoughts.


	12. Chapter 12

_Peter wasn't convinced at all, and apparently he had decided to call a spade a spade, because once they were out of hearing reach, he hissed: "Olivia, this is stupid! There are currently living 2.9 million people in this city – what makes you think –"_

_She didn't give him the chance to finish his sentence and interrupted him with a harsh gesture. "We _know _she wanted to go to that club. And a place like that, it's bound to attract the weirdest kinds of people._"

"_Yes", he agreed, but as she had expected, he wasn't quite through yet. "But if – and that's a pretty big if – you're right, then your idea isn't just stupid, it's right out dangerous!"_

_She had to admit – to herself, not to him! – he had a point. But then again... what about the last few years, hadn't they been dangerous too? And it wasn't like she wanted to take on the person who had done this all by herself; she wasn't nuts. But she knew that if there was one thing she excelled at, it was at discovering details others overlooked. So if she just took a look – just a short visit – she might find something officer Hanley might miss and then she could always pass the case on to the Boston Police Department. So that's what she told Peter with a firm gaze. He didn't look all too pleased, but at least he didn't protest anymore, so she continued: "I really think it's at least worth to take a look. Just one glance, and then I'll give the case to Hanley. And besides – it's not an investigation, it's just..." Olivia shrugged, not quite sure as how to finish, but luckily Peter got the gist and finished the sentence for her. Though not quite in the way she had expected. "... a date?"_

_At first she just stared at him in disbelief, but then her lips parted into a wide smile. "Yeah, a date." When she discovered Peter's own broad grin, she hurried to say: "A fake one, of course."_

_Peter never lost his smirk as he said: "Of course", and Olivia knew she had won him over. Hopefully, neither of them would regret this._

XXXX

Her fault. This is her fault. She doesn't know the guy in chains – Peter, Peter, Peter! –, but she knows without a doubt that it's her fault that he is in this kind of distress. The music is forgotten, the dance has left her body and she feels strangely empty as if an important part of her life is just gone. The oomph, oomph loses its meaning and all that remains is the hissing wshhhhhh-snap of the whip, as if the lash hurts her as much as him. Who is she? Names flicker through her head. Rachel, Olivia, Emily, Astrid, and suddenly it seems important that she remembers. It is important that the sting of the _Leiurus quinquestriatus _is deadly. It is important that she remembers.


	13. Chapter 13

_They hadn't expected Walther and Astrid to be in the lab, but when they entered the corridor that led to the weirdest laboratory Olivia had seen in her life, they could already make out a shimmer of light in the distance. Peter looked at her and shrugged; apparently he had no idea what on earth his father could be working on this late. Her guess was something peculiar and fringy. Ah, the wonders of working with a crazy genius._

„_The headsets are in the back of the office. I'll get them, you just keep the two work-a-holics busy", she heard her partner say and acknowledged his plan with a nod. No need to involve someone who accidentally might inform Broyles of her plan. She knew Peter disagreed, but she had made her point clear: Broyles would never condone this kind of action, even though she intended to keep this one strictly observational. So when they entered the lab, she already had her explanation at the ready._

_Not that it was needed. Walther was sitting at the desk in the middle of the room and looking intently at a purple liquid that was standing on a magnetic stir. Astrid was entering some kind of data into her laptop, but paused her work when she discovered the two newcomers and smiled broadly. Behind her, Walther jumped to his feet and exclaimed: „Peter! Olivia! What a nice surprise! Look, look at this, it's wonderful!"_

_Olivia was sure that it would have been wonderful if she had been a chemist, but she had to agree that it was beautiful. As she stared at the solution, it changed its color, turning from purple to blue to green to yellow, red, pink and purple again._

„_Yeah, that's nice, Walther", Peter replied with a sigh. Then he looked at her and said with a smile: „Be right back". With that he crossed the room, greeted Gene with a nod and entered the office on the other side. Olivia took her chance to complete her task in this by closing the distance between her and Walther's experiment._

„_So... What is it?"_

_As she had expected, the scientist didn't even bother to ask why Peter and she had come. Instead he started listing various chemical compounds and complexes that apparently had quite an interesting reaction, once combined. Ostensibly, the experiment didn't really serve any greater purpose, too, because next he pointed at Astrid and said: „I'm just waiting for Astro to finish she statistics on that case from last week and thought I should put the time to good use."_

_Olivia sighed in relief when Peter returned to the lab. Instead of turning towards her, however, he moved over to the fridge, opened the door and pulled out a glass bottle filled with an inconspicuous-looking, transparent liquid that he swirled around with a suspicious look. „Anything I should be aware of, Walther?", he asked – probably just to make sure it was drinkable after the last time he drank something inconspicuous-looking that turned out to be far from harmless._

„_There are lots of things you should be aware of", Walther shot back with one of his hectic gestures. He was about to give some examples, or so Olivia guessed when she thought she heard the word „sunspots", but Astrid stopped him with a grin and explained: „It's just water, Peter."_

_Peter took a sip, still not quite convinced, then his handsome features distorted into a grimace and he mumbled: „I think you need to test your taste buds. If this is water, it's been in this bottle for half a century."_

„_I didn't say it was fresh water", Astrid shot back and her grin broadened. Olivia could see, how Peter was just about to say something snappy in return, but was interrupted by Walther, who suddenly looked quite interested. „Oh, I am particularly proud of this one!", he began. „What you just drank was water mixed with poison from the quite deadly Leiurus quinquestriatus scorpion."_

_Neither Peter nor Olivia had the time to process this new and quite shocking information. „I've only added an enzyme, that neutralizes...", Walther continued and took a sip of the glass himself. „Yes, I will have to work on the taste, definitely."_

„_The taste?", Peter muttered tonelessly. Then he repeated the words with more vigor: „The taste?". Olivia couldn't help but notice how pale his skin had turned. „I swear, Walther, one day one of your crazy ideas is gonna be the death of me."_

_When Walther didn't answer and just took another sip with a quite intrigued look in his eyes, Astrid chimed in: „Don't worry, he did try it before you."_

_Peter's shock turned to annoyance and he said with a sigh and with a look at Olivia: „How about we get out of this madhouse?"_

_At that, Astrid reacted with a raised eyebrow: „Where are you two going?"_

„_Just out for a beer", Peter lied with ease; even though Olivia knew he wasn't telling the truth, it was impossible to detect. Well, once a con man... „You wanna join?"_

_At that, she really had to fight the urge to stare at him as if he had lost his mind, but Astrid's reply calmed her down instantly._

„_No, thanks, we want to get through this tonight."_

„_Enjoy then", Olivia said with a lopsided grin and was about to leave with Peter, when she remembered the coroner. „Uh, Astrid, could I maybe put my phone through to you? I'm waiting for an important call, but I really want to relax tonight." Huh, almost as good as Peter. Not quite the truth either; but if he was actually going to call tonight, there was no way she would hear the phone once they were inside the club, so she might as well just let Astrid take this call._

_She just smiled and answered: „Sure, we're gonna be here a good long while anyways."_

XXXX

Memories. They must be memories. The names still echo in her head, but one of them stands out. Olivia. Olivia. That must be her. The one responsible for all of this. The one responsible for the man in the cage. Olivia. Another tear makes its way down her cheek, but she barely notices. She stares at the black outfit she is wearing, at the black hair that falls over her shoulders, feels the weird sharp pin in her hair, sees the black nail polish. A suit. Blonde. No polish. This isn't her. She can't be Olivia.


	14. Chapter 14

„_So, tell me more about that place. If we walk straight into the lion's den, I at least want to know what awaits me", Peter remarked as he took place next to her in the car and buckled up. She couldn't help but notice the spark of … yeah, of what? Excitement? Teasing? Annoyance? … in his eyes as their looks met, and in her head she still heard his words. „A date?". Now wasn't the time to be thinking about him like that; she hadn't told Rachel yet and Emily's death weighed heavily on her shoulders. But she couldn't help it. She was eternally grateful that he had decided to tag along and couldn't even begin to express how much she appreciated that he could make her laugh even when she felt like she was falling into a black hole, and all of her feelings just got mixed up inside her and confused her._

„_Uhm...", Peter began and woke her from her wave of emotions, „I don't think the car drives by itself."_

„_Very funny", Olivia shot back and turned on the engine. "And the lion's den, as you call it, is a new club that opened last month and has been quite successful already. It has introduced itself as the place for the – and now don't laugh – Children of the Dark..." At that, she could see how Peter actually tried to stifle a laugh, and she even smiled herself at the choice of words being used by the club's owner. „They have gotten quite a lot of publicity, because they do a lot to create the perfect atmosphere like furnishing with black and red velvet on the walls and tables, using coffins as sofas and hiring actors to play vampires and victims. They even got a special permit to use candles and torches in there. I have read a few articles and blogs about the place, and they have all been very favorable. Especially young women seem to be quite fascinated by the whole vampire masquerade, and a few stories were even written by completely enthralled customers who couldn't really remember anything else than 'the best night of my life!'..."_

_For a moment, they drove on in silence, then Peter made a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle. „Vampires. Seriously?"_

„_Must be the whole Twilight meets Vampire Diaries meets True Blood thing", Olivia replied with a side-glance at him. He looked as skeptical as she felt herself, and if Emily's body hadn't been discovered as close to the place, she would have discarded the whole idea as ludicrous._

„_The best night of my life...", Peter repeated. Then he grinned and added: „You think they've been glamoured?"_

XXXX

Glamoured. The words stirs something deep inside her and connects it to the sting of the scorpion. Glamoured. There is a reason for her dark appearance. Olivia. She has to be Olivia. And then, suddenly, it makes sense.


	15. Chapter 15

„_Well, look at you, all dressed up and darkly pretty", she heard Peter chuckle as she stared in disbelief at her own image in the mirror. As far as she remembered, she had never been clad in so much black at the same time. It had taken her a while to convince herself that it really was such a good idea to dye her hair and she wondered briefly, how long it would take her to get rid of that shining blackness on top of her head when all of this was over. Even her nails were as dark as night with tiny, white skulls on them._

„_Right back at you", she retorted and allowed to swirl herself around in front of the mirror. Her lace skirt flew up due to the movement and Peter whistled appreciatively._

„_Who are you, and what have you done to Olivia?", he asked mockingly as he put on a tight tank top that allowed his muscles to show underneath the fabric._

_Olivia actually giggled at that – she never, ever giggled! – and answered in the same taunting tone of voice: „I am sorry, Olivia is unavailable at the moment." Then she reached out for the tiny headset and made sure that the almost transparent mike was carefully hidden in the neck holder of her top and the tiny earpiece didn't show. Showtime._

XXXX

At first Peter had tried to keep count, fully intent on returning the favor lash for lash once he got out of this. It hurt, yes, but he had been through a lot worse before. So he just kept his mouth shut and tried not to look too racked with pain out of fear it would make Olivia wake up from her trance. He didn't dare look at her too often or for too long, so he just kept his head down. But in the few seconds he actually _did_ try to catch her gaze, his heartbeat seemed to stop.

She was crying. Dammit. It was only one tear that glistened in the corner of her eye and she was still dancing amidst three other girls, but it was far too obvious for his taste. He didn't have the time to think about her – the next strike was a lot harder than the first ones and finally made him utter a sharp gasp of pain. Had he just thought he'd been through worse? Right now, he couldn't really remember when; a whip, a goddamn _whip!_ What was this, the Middle Ages? The next strike tore his skin apart and he could feel hot blood run down his spine. And still those people down there just stared, cheered, laughed... How could they seriously think this wasn't for real?

Boris didn't say anything as he continued hurting him, no words addressed to his alleged partner, no words addressed to the audience, he just kept on lunging out, hitting his back, lunging out again... and after what felt like an eternity, he couldn't hold the scream back any longer. _I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Olivia_, he thought as he through tear-filled eyes discerned his partners reaction. Morgan's plan was working, he could see it was by the shocked expression on Olivia's face.


	16. Chapter 16

The scream reaches her ears and finally she remembers. The music and the dance lose all of their importance in the same instant her memory overwhelms her. She is Olivia Dunham, FBI-Agent with Fringe Division, and the man in the cage is Peter Bishop, her partner and her friend. And the sting of the scorpion... The sting... She looks down at the palm of her hand and sees a tiny, red mark, almost impossible to discern in the gloomy light of the club, embedded in the middle of the stamp.

Poison?

The memories come flowing back into her, she remembers the case, Emily, remembers how they dressed up and drove here, how she decided to walk in first so no one could connect her to Peter if something went wrong, and then … then the sting, at the entrance, when the doorman affixed the stamp on her hand, and then... nothing. Nothing real. Just flashes, fragments of memories, a blur of impressions, and then suddenly Peter in chains. How did he end up in chains? And why hadn't they – whoever they were – taken her as well?

Her face felt cold, and as she touched it with her fingertips, she felt wetness underneath them. She stared at Peter, the same as a dozen girls around her that squealed in pleasure everytime the whip struck down on his back. What was _wrong_ with these people? As her gaze wandered over the dancefloor, she suddenly discovered the large guy from the entrance in one corner. And he seemed to be looking for someone.

Her.

Of course. That's why she wasn't in there with him. Or maybe that was even the reason why they were torturing him. To get her to reveal herself. She didn't think he had seen her yet, but if she just kept staring at her partner, it was just a matter of time. Dammit. Wasn't there anything she could do to help him? Not if she got caught, that was for sure, so she hurriedly took a look at the others around her, the dancers, and tried to get back into the rhythm as not to attract any attention, but inside she wanted to cry out everytime the lash crashed down on Peter's back. She couldn't even imagine what he was going through, but the gasps and his scream of pain spoke for themselves.

She had to do something, anything, but what, what, _what_? His headset was probably gone by now, and even if they hadn't discovered it, it still wouldn't do any good as long as they kept a close eye on the dancers. Leaving to get help would be suspicious too. But then how to get out of this? She had only wanted to take a look, she had only expected one killer, _one_, but right now it seemed like the whole club had turned against them. How could she have been so stupid?

_Not helping_, she scolded herself. All the blame could follow later (and she knew it would), but right now she had to think. The watchman hadn't noticed her yet... could he have a gun? Some kind of weapon she could use? And the keys – she would need the keys to Peter's chains too, but they were probably with his tormentor. She wished she knew how many of these freaks around her actually were on _their_ side (and again: who was „_they_"?), and how many were just high and enjoying themselves by watching another man suffer?

This was sick. She felt something warm and wet touch her face and as her fingers reached for it automatically, she discovered a red liquid on them. The audience around her had noticed the blood too, because they were screaming even more exhilarated and some of the girls were even trying to reach into the cage now, forcing Peter's captor to halt his efforts and turn his attention towards them instead.

During the commotion, Olivia kept a close eye on the watcher on the other side of the dancefloor and noticed with satisfaction that he was staring at the girls around the cage now, probably considering whether one of them was trying to save their victim and thereby revealing herself as his partner. If ever there was a chance in this mess, it was now. She began moving away from the cage slowly, always keeping her hips in motion as if she was still entranced by the music and just looking for more space to dance. Closer she crept, ever closer, and though everything inside her screamed not to look away, not to _move_ away from her friend, she forced herself to focus on the task at hand. No, she had no idea what had happened since she had entered this place, and no, she couldn't know how many enemies they were facing, but as far as she could see there just weren't any other options than using an offensive strategy right now.

And so she acted offensively.


	17. Chapter 17

The instant she reached the buff guy in the totally out-of-date black suit and noticed the telltale bulge underneath his jacket, her body started moving almost instinctively. He was a good head higher, and so his throat was exactly on the height of her hair. And of her hair pin. With one fluent movement, her hand grasped for the pin, pulled it out of her long, black hair and guided it sure-handedly towards the man's unprotected neck. Jackpot. She couldn't help but feel quite content with herself when she saw how his eyes widened in surprise at the rapid attack. He hadn't seen it coming at all. As the sharp end of the bone pin pierced his skin, he made a gasping sound that was completely drowned out by the loud music and the screams of approximately a million crazy Goth girls who were cheering at Peter's misery.

Olivia didn't stop to look at how the man's eyes broke. No time. Her fingers reached for the gun underneath his jacket and closed around the handle, but she was shocked to meet a last desperate attempt of resistance from her adversary, whose hands closed around her wrist and put too much pressure on it for her to keep a hold of the gun. „Y-you...", he somehow managed to stammer, his voice clearly distorted by the blood slowly filling up his throat. With a yelp of disgust, Olivia tried to shake his hands off – the guy was dying, for crying out loud, how could he still have so much vigor left? Gathering every ounce of strength in her own body, she threw herself away from him and finally broke free, watching as he stumbled backwards and crashed into two girls who had gazed at the torture from afar. Olivia ignored them and tried to go for the weapon once more, far too aware of the fact that someone could have noticed the rather striking end of their short battle. This time, the man didn't move as she pulled out the gun – a Magnum .22, she noted with surprise – and flung herself around to discern if someone had taken a note of her adversary's sudden death.

Nope, still lucky. Especially as opposed to Peter. Her gaze flickered back to her partner and she had to stop herself from simply running back towards the cage with the gun blazing like some wild west cowboy. From her current position, she could see half of his back and it was a stomach-turning sight. It was dark red and blood was flowing down unhindered from about twenty, maybe twenty-five streaks criss-crossing the skin that must hurt like hell. Though she really hadn't the time to think about it, she couldn't help but feel incredibly impressed by the lack of screams emerging from Peter's throat. One scream. One scream that had wakened her up from her trance, and then he somehow had managed to hold the anguish inside. And still the girls were cheering. Oh, how she hated that sound by now! But luckily they were still in the same trance as she had been, and so were the other people gathered around the dancefloor and standing by the bar, because even though some of them were looking at her too, all she could discern was a slight interest that you might grant a fly on the wall if you had nothing better to do with your time. At least none of them looked like they intended to smash the fly. What kind of poison could turn so many people into... well, for a lack of a better word... zombies? And why hadn't it affected Peter, if he had gotten the poisoned stamp at the entrance too? And why poison so many people in the first place? The questions were spinning around in her head, but she finally managed to stop them by focusing on Peter's battered back once more. No time for that now. Answers could follow later, and then the blame. For now, she needed to act. So she tried to hide the Magnum at her side as much as possible and moved with dancing sways back towards the cage and her partner. Her friend. For one terrible, terrible second, their eyes met and the repressed hurt she could see in his look cut deep into her own heart. But she couldn't allow herself to stare at him for much longer. If there were others watching them, they would _have_ to notice her. So she just hurried past him and tried to make it behind the rather large tormentor. He was wearing the same old-style suit with the same bulge that betrayed his weapon, and at his belt she quickly discovered a set of keys that held the promise of freedom for Peter. But before she could think of a plan to get them, his attacker growled: „I grow tired of this."

This wasn't good. The whip fell from the man's hands and she could see how a sigh of relief escaped Peter's mouth, as the expected sensation of pain didn't come, but within a heartbeat it turned into an anguished yelp as his tormentor drew the gun he had hidden underneath his jacket and drilled the muzzle into the bare flesh on Peter's back. An excited gasp went through the audience at that and some of the girls actually showed some kind of concern on their entranced features.

Then the man yelled a name that didn't make any sense to Olivia at first.

„Oliver!", she heard his deep voice and suddenly understood that Peter must have told them a lie about his partner. Probably the only thing that had prevented the watchman she had killed from discovering her, if he had been looking for a man. „Oliver, show yourself! Or I'll give your pretty friend a new hole to breathe through!" Some of the girls shook their heads wildly, some screamed „No!" at the top of their lungs, others just smiled or grinned as if they knew something the others didn't. Olivia did neither. She closed the gap between herself and her adversary with two fast steps up the stairs, her fingers clenched around the gun, and said in a firm voice: „You want to know where Oliver is?"


	18. Chapter 18

The guy was two heads higher than her and probably twice as broad-shouldered, and when he slowly turned around to face the unwelcomed disruptive element she couldn't help but gulp. He was a giant, and it certainly didn't help that he was standing a step above her. And he didn't lower the weapon on Peter's back one inch, as Peter's heavy, strained breathing told her. Dammit.

„What –", the man began as he took notice of her. A few of the girls behind her actually sighed at her dramatic entrance and thereby proved to be a lot quicker thinkers than her enemy. Apparently the connection between her and Peter was quite obvious to them. But now what? As long as the weapon was so close to her friend, she couldn't just use her own or attack. So she smiled broadly, the Magnum hidden behind her back, and replied: „You were searching for an Oliver. I talked to him at the bar." With a nod, she showed the man which corner of the club she was referring to, and continued: „Then he and that other actor, the other one in a suit, staged a fight and that Oliver took the dude's gun."

Perfect. As large and strong as Peter's tormentor was, as slowly did his brain work. He actually lowered the weapon and pulled it a little bit towards himself while his eyes widened in confusion and his gaze went over to the corner, where Olivia had taken down his partner. That was her chance. Without any compromise, she exploited the man's distraction, brought forth her Magnum and fired a single shot into his foot – the only place where she could be sure not to hit Peter by accident. The sound was almost completely lost in the approximately thousands of cheers, but the guy's own scream drowned out every other sound. Though suddenly jumping around on one leg, he didn't drop the gun which earned him just a little bit of grudging respect from Olivia. Of course, it didn't stop her from attacking again as soon as she saw her chance. He had turned all the way around to face her by now, but she was a lot faster than him and managed to duck as he struck out in her general direction with the butt of the gun. His crude attempt at hitting her, made more than clumsy by his desperate struggle for balance on his injured foot, opened up for her next shot. She had aimed for the chest this time as Peter was out of the direct line of fire, but she had not calculated with her adversary's fighting reflexes; clearly in this case size didn't get in the way of agility. He somehow managed to evade far enough to the side to only get hit in the left shoulder; a painful injury for sure, but as she knew from previous experience nothing that would stop a man of his build. She cursed silently under her breath and jumped back down on the dancefloor when the man charged towards her like a mad bull, the pain in his foot apparently outplayed by adrenaline. Unfortunately, she was stopped by a wall of people that didn't seem to see the gun in her hand as any threat at all and therefore didn't move an inch. She had to duck as her attacker used his gun as a blunt weapon once more – seemingly he had orders not to kill her – and couldn't really help but feel a little bit satisfied when he hit some random girl in the face instead. She tumbled back and crashed into one of the coffins on the side of the dancefloor, knocking over glasses and candles. Olivia knew the satisfaction she felt wasn't quite fair, considering the girl probably had nothing to do with their enemies other than that she was caught in their web too, but the cheers had really, really annoyed her. And of course the wall of people coming closer in anticipation and making it impossible for her to get any room to aim didn't make her relationship to the other victims any better.

The bull charged again and she evaded with an agile movement, but collided with some guy behind her that gave her a shove with his elbow in the back to send her flying closer towards her adversary again. And closer to the cage. Of course. When the man rushed her once more, she jumped to the side, closer to the open cage door, and climbed the steps fast enough for her to bring some more distance between herself and her attacker. No people here to hinder her actions. Just... Peter. She forced herself not to look at him, but his strained breathing reached her ears nonetheless, as did the words he suddenly spoke when he realized who had entered the cage.

„R-run", she heard him whisper. „Three... three more."

She had no intention to run, but the information about other enemies was quite valuable. She had to hurry. Within half a heartbeat she aimed at the giant and pulled the trigger, finally succeeding in bringing him to his knees. She had no idea where the bullet had hit, but he stumbled and fell and didn't move anymore, offering her a chance to get a hold of the keys on his belt. Three more... Three more. She had no idea, where they were, but for now she seemed to be undisturbed apart from the sighs and cheers from the crowd. Yeah, this probably looked like quite a romantic show for someone who didn't know every single detail of this was real. Though the screams that suddenly arose close by surprised her and were quite unnerving – what was happening down there? Olivia spent one precious second to stare at the direction of the unexpected noise and discovered orange flames licking up at the velvet on the coffin where the girl had landed before. It was spreading fast and apparently enough to awake some of the customers from their weird trance.

„I... I asked you to... to run", she heard Peter gasp when she finally returned with her prize and began to work on the shackles, ignoring the rising number of screams and cries in the background. They were too high up for her to reach them comfortably, so she had to get on her toes and support herself on Peter's shoulder, which was rewarded with a hiss of anguish at her touch and followed by an angry curse. Well, as long as he could spit out profanities, Olivia was pretty sure he would be okay. Still she mumbled „Sorry" with more than a bad conscience at the pain she was causing him. Then she remembered to answer his first words and told him: „And how could I run? I had forgotten something". The keys were hard to turn in the rusty lock and she had to fight with it a few seconds more. „Or someone", she added almost inaudibly. Finally the lock sprang open and Olivia just left the key in the lock – they wouldn't need it anymore and she suddenly needed her hands to support Peter, who was about to drop to his knees the same instant nothing held him upright anymore. Though Olivia suspected there wasn't much time before the others found out what had happened, she gently helped him to sit down and gave him a minute to gather his strength. Or rather, she had planned to give him a minute, but that was before they were discovered. The music that had existed like an eternal background noise stopped in the same moment as a sharp cry echoed through the club, so loud and high that it pierced through marrow and bone and had quite an interesting effect on the already panicky audience.

The effect of the poison wore off instantly. And then all hell broke loose.


	19. Chapter 19

For the second time this evening, Olivia was thankful for the solid cage. The crowd didn't care who was pushed, shoved, knocked down or simply overrun, but the cage made them part like the Red Sea had before Moses and gave Olivia the time to take a closer look at Peter and, more importantly, his injuries. His back looked awful, with flaps of skin hanging down and revealing raw flesh underneath. It was enough to make her gag, but she suppressed the reflex. Apart from that, she discovered a wound on his temple that had already been closed by caked blood, as had one of his nostrils. So he hadn't ended up inside the cage without a fight, which meant whatever poison had made her submit to this place hadn't had any effect on him.

„If you're... if you're done st-staring...", she heard Peter groan as he tried to scramble to his feet. He grasped for the cage bars in order to pull himself up and he cursed silently every time his back muscles were involved in the movement, but that didn't stop him.

„What? I thought you liked it when girls stared at you?", Olivia commented with a faked grin. She tried to support him the best she could, but she didn't even know where to place her hands and _not_ hurt him. Still, he finally ended up standing beside her, panting heavily and looking like he would stumble back down any second, but at least now they could try to get out of here before the other three could make their way towards them. Olivia was still trying to find out who they were and where they were, but the black mass of people storming past them made it impossible to discern any details. They all tried to make it out the entrance where Olivia and Peter had come in, a rather large door but too small to allow for the flood to pass through, creating a bottleneck that would make it impossible for her and Peter to get out that way. But then where to? She looked for any green emergency exit signs, but couldn't find them – how had those owners ever gotten the approval to run this club? But she saw something else, and it did nothing to calm her growing panic: A tall woman in a baroque dress was staring directly at her with anger flashing so clearly in her eyes that Olivia just knew she wasn't part of the panicked pack of customers. She was mouthing something; Olivia wasn't quite sure, but it looked like _Not again_, over and over again. Behind her, a man in an old-fashioned suit stood, his gaze filled with worry and disbelief, but as she moved towards the cage, he simply followed.

_Meet the owners_, Olivia thought grimly at the sight of the two cliché vampires. Peter seemed to have followed her stare, because he let out a gasp and muttered in a voice far too weak for Olivia's taste: „C-careful. Not... not human."

There was no time to explain. Olivia didn't even have the time to think more about his words, because her two adversaries took her completely by surprise. She heard the woman's voice, sharp and filled with rage, echo through her head: „You ruined everything!", but it was far too close considering the distance between them – and then she realized too late that the gap between them had been overcome already and she felt a surprisingly strong hand lock around her throat. She heard Peter yelp beside her, felt how he was flung from her side. Somewhere in the back of her mind she found the time to wonder, how someone could move _that_ fast, but every thought was drowned out as she was fighting for her breath.

„You ruined everything! Everything!", the woman's voice still went on, shrill and hurting her ears. It was the same voice that had awakened the crowd from its enchantment, but the words didn't make any sense as they couldn't penetrate the burning sensation that was engulfing Olivia. Her lungs were screaming for air, but nothing, not a single gulp of the lifesaving element, made its way from her mouth to her chest. „Everything!", she heard the woman yell once more, but again it was only a sound between many. Her fingers felt cold, felt something, something hard. As if her thoughts had to fight their way through syrup, it took her a few seconds – precious, precious seconds – to remember the Magnum still clutched in her right hand, and Olivia did the only thing she could do in this situation: She fired a shot. The strain of pressing the trigger was almost more than she could overcome, and she wasn't even able to lift her arm, but her enemy's height gave her an advantage this time, as the gun was pointed directly at the woman's abdomen. The fingers loosened their grip instantly and the lady in the baroque costume stumbled back two steps, staring in a mixture of disbelief and shock at the gaping wound in her body.

Olivia's mind was already focusing on Peter and the grunts of pain she heard behind her, but her body wasn't quite there yet after the rough treatment and prioritized breathing far higher than anything else. At first it hurt so much that she tried to resist the natural urge, because every gulp seemed to turn into liquid fire in her lungs, but then breathing became easier and she managed to take in her surroundings. She was lying on her stomach outside the cage – she didn't even remember falling – and when she managed to turn her head around slowly towards her friend, everything was spinning. In a haze she saw two figures still standing inside, one pressed up against the bars, the other leaning against him, doing... something...

Somehow Olivia managed to get to her knees, but before she could use the steps of the cage to get back on her feet, she heard an icy cold voice that she shouldn't have heard after the gunshot.

„You bitch", it said and was followed by an attack that Olivia did see coming but couldn't stop in her current condition. The knee hit her directly on her chest and was so powerful that it sent her flying across the dancefloor before she came crashing down somewhere close to the bar area. All the air she had fought so hard for was knocked from her lungs by the attack and the following impact, and she must have blacked out, because the next thing she discerned was a fist coming closer at light speed, then she was thrown backwards again and landed on one of the coffins where she skidded through full and empty cocktail glasses, dried flowers and burning candles, that toppled over at her violent entrance and quickly found new sustenance in the dark red petals and the black velvet. When Olivia let out a pained groan at the attempt to get up before the woman reached her, she was rewarded with a cruel laugh and the words: „You think that hurt, bitch? I'm not even half through with you."

A single thought made its way through Olivia's mind as she saw her adversary come closer almost tauntingly slowly: _Fuck._


	20. Chapter 20

Though Peter had suspected that Morgan and Mortimer were far faster and stronger than normal humans, their sudden attack still came too unexpectedly for him to act. Something hit him with the power of a steam hammer, yanked him away from Olivia and forced him back into the cage, crashing him against the bars with his back first. The pain was almost more than his already battered body could take and for a second he was almost considering to just allow himself to pass out, every other thought completely doused out by the sheer burning anguish making its way through his back, but then he remembered where he was and that he wasn't here alone. He couldn't just give in to the far too luring darkness. It wouldn't just mean his death. It would mean Olivia's too, and he couldn't live with that. Or die, for that matter. So he just allowed himself to scream at the top of his lungs and tried to press back against the violent force holding him pinned against the inside of the cage, but even with his hands free, Mortimer, as he now discerned, didn't budge an inch.

„You're mine, tasty", he heard his adversary's voice in his ear. The man was leaning in so close that he could feel his body heat, could feel his hot breath on his bare skin right by his throat. Not good. He couldn't see whether the fangs were out, but considering what he knew about Mortimer, he was probably already trying to find the perfect spot for the bite. The rush of panic that followed this thought was almost enough to make him forget about his physical pain and gave him enough energy to fight back once more – unfortunately with the same result: None.

„My sister thinks we shouldn't drain to survive", Mortimer whispered in a voice that sent a shiver down Peter's spine. „But some of you taste so … so … so incredibly good."

„You're... you're sick!", Peter shot back and was almost shocked to hear his voice sound so thin and high-pitched. With his hands, he tried to turn Mortimer's head away from his neck, but he might as well have tried to turn the head on Rodin's Thinker with nothing but his muscle strength. It almost seemed to him as if Mortimer hadn't felt the attack, but then the man said: „Don't fight. It's no use. And adrenaline tastes …". He made a sound as if he had just eaten something as disgusting as another person's vomit, and that thought gave Peter an idea. It was crazy, but hey – if force and logic failed, why not go with crazy?


	21. Chapter 21

The thought seemed to spin through her mind in a loop as Olivia felt the woman's hands close around her throat once more and lift her up until they were face to face and her feet weren't touching the ground anymore. The grip was still strong, but at least this time it allowed her to breathe shallowly and under great pain. Her surroundings were still kinda shadow-y, but she managed to discover more details by now like the long, blood red earrings, her enemy was wearing, or the thick makeup that gave her quite a dramatic look. Behind her, she saw the cage and the two men inside, Peter with his back to her, the other one with his face just inches away from her friend. The bars were as red as the woman's earrings, courtesy of Peter's injuries, but even though Olivia could see how he was still pressed up against them, she didn't hear him scream. Oh God. Oh God!

„P-peter!", she tried to bring forth, but the single word was more a gasp than a name and made her adversary distort her elegant features into a sadistic grin. At least now she could see how her friend's body moved in an attempt to push his fiend away.

„I think Mortimer's gonna have a nice dinner tonight, before we have to move on", the woman said and really seemed to enjoy how every single one of her words made Olivia flinch. Olivia would have liked to ask what the woman meant by „dinner", but the man – Mortimer – explained it to her perfectly. She was shocked to see, how Peter's body suddenly relaxed as if he had completely succumbed to his fate and how the man sunk his teeth into her friend's neck. No, not teeth. Fangs. Freaking fangs! And Peter didn't even fight back – he just stood still.

„M-make him... make him stop", she managed to whisper at the terrible scene that even made her forget about her own distress for a heartbeat. She couldn't lose him. She couldn't lose Peter – and yet here they were and there was nothing, absolutely nothing she could do while he was being drained by a … a vampire. Then the woman stepped into her line of vision, still with the same expression of sadistic content on her face, and answered coldly: „You should worry about your own fate, you meddlesome bitch." With that, she used her arms to fling Olivia further into the back of the club.


	22. Chapter 22

„That's it, thaaaat's it", Peter heard Mortimer whisper contently as he tried his best to relax. It wasn't easy, considering the constant waves of pain in his back and his fear and panic at being eaten alive by a pseudo vampire, but as he had proved on countless occasions, he was quite a good actor. Still he dreaded the second the fangs would sink into his flesh and the part that really sucked (haha) would begin. His fingers found Mortimer's and began to fondle them which probably was one of the most disgusting things he had done solving fringy cases, but it did the trick and he could feel how his attacker relaxed visibly, returning the touch and caressing his skin softly. Apparently, he _really_ didn't like the taste of adrenalized blood. Good. That made his plan so much easier. Peter slowly lifted his hands and tried to get his enemy to follow him, which worked like a charm. At the same time, he could feel the sting of the fangs near his aorta. It didn't hurt nearly as much as he had feared, but that was probably due to the comparison with his injured back, and he still tried to fake a state of relaxation while he patiently moved the hands up until they were on the height of Mortimer's face. As the sucking began, Peter almost blacked out for a second – he had never felt anything like this. His blood seemed to turn to fire in his veins, making him painfully aware of how it coursed through his body, and a wave of nausea washed over him at the yucky sounds coming from Mortimer's mouth. He sighed in relief when his tormentor paused for a moment to whisper: „God, you taste like heaven."

As the fangs entered Peter's neck again he was prepared and managed to focus his attention back to his plan. He started caressing Mortimer's hands once more while lifting them higher, higher...

A shudder went through Mortimer as he pulled his teeth back, and Peter already feared his attempt had been in vain and was about to let go of the vampire, but then his adversary groaned a name, his voice sounding entranced, enchanted: „Oh, Emily."

That explained Mortimer's weird behavior. For a second, Peter was stunned by the implications of his enemy's words – had this monster actually cared about her? And why did his blood seem to taste exactly like hers? But then the bite was continued and made it perfectly clear to Peter that there wasn't much time. He didn't have a clue how much blood this pseudo vampire could suck out per minute, but he was already feeling dizzy due to the blood loss from the whipping and couldn't afford to lull Mortimer into a false sense of security for much longer. So again he lifted his and thereby Mortimer's hands higher, inch by inch...

… until he finally managed to put them into the still open shackles that were dangling from the top of the cage. He had no idea how fast a vampire was when emerged into the state of blissful feeding, but considering the sounds of pure pleasure that escaped from his attacker's mouth, he was pretty sure the act of sucking on an imaginary Emily was somewhere close to the human act of reproduction and therefore would slow him down considerably. And it did. As Mortimer's skin touched the cold metal, Peter could feel a jolt of surprise go through his adversary's body, but by then it was too late and he managed to let the shackles snap shut, turn the key and pull it out of the lock in one fluent movement. Then he threw himself to the side, away from Mortimer, who had paused his feeding frenzy, but hadn't taken the fangs out of Peter's neck yet. He could feel the skin around the entrance points rupture and felt the blood flow far too freely out of the wounds, but there was no time to put pressure on it right now. He crashed into the bars close to the door and used the shock of the pain that went through his back once more to catapult himself out the entrance. There was nothing controlled about this escape and he just crashed down onto the stairs like a sack of spuds, but at least he was away from this fiendish creature and its fangs. That was when he heard the scream.


	23. Chapter 23

This time, Olivia's flight was halted painfully by a metal pillar marking one end of the bar, and she let out a gasp as a sharp pain shot through her back. Darkness was crawling into her mind, but she managed to fight it back down and tried to get up by reaching for the first and the best thing close by, which happened to be one of the tables. But as her fingers grasped the black tablecloth, she lost her balance and stumbled back down, pulling the contents on the coffin towards her and only barely evading the hot wax of about a dozen candles. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw how the plate with the black block candles crashed down next to her and how orange flames began licking at the red velvet, not just right next to her, but in other parts of the club too, but she had no time to worry about how fast a fire might spread. Her greatest worry was the baroque lady, who was closing in on her once again. Olivia's fingers frantically searched the ground for any weapon available, while her mind kept screaming _A gunshot wound in her stomach and she's still standing! There __is__ no weapon against her!_, but she decided not to listen, because that would have amounted to giving up. She found one of the candles and held it up like a shield as she discerned the shadow of the inhumanly fast creature and was rewarded with a satisfying screech of pain as the flames touched her cheek.

So fire. Not that it helped her in any way, because before she could find something inflammable close by that would have granted her better protection than a puny flame, a hard blow bashed the candle out of her hand and carried with it an unsettling cracking sound and a terrible ache in Olivia's wrist.

„Not this time!", she heard the woman snarl and felt herself grabbed by her unnaturally black hair and pulled away from the burning coffin. It felt like her scalp was being torn from her head, but it was nothing compared to the sudden stabbing pain that shot through her neck as two needle-sharp fangs broke through her skin and caused her to scream at the top of her voice in a mixture of anguish and panic. Though it seemed to her that every bone in her body was broken, she reared up at the unexpected attack and tried to break free by throwing herself against the woman's iron grip on her head and shoulder, but the more she struggled, the deeper the fangs seemed to sink into her and the stronger the suction became until she felt dizziness and nausea rush over her like a dark blanket that threatened to extinguish her rebellious flame and throw her into unconsciousness. Through the thick veil that deadened the disgusting sucking sounds of her enemy, she suddenly heard a voice she had been afraid not to hear ever again.

„Hey! Bitch!"

The fangs were pulled back almost instantly and Olivia felt herself tossed aside like a ragdoll. Slowly, the world around her became part of her consciousness again and she discerned the crackle of fire behind and next to her, felt the heat the flames radiated, noticed how the tall woman uttered a quite unlady-like curse and a hiss, and finally her eyes managed to focus on something in particular: The cage on the dancefloor. Somebody was still inside, chained to the ceiling, and struggling like a wild animal to break free. The growls that assailed Olivia's ears were far from human as well and sent a cold shiver down her spine. Beside the cage, right on the other side of the bars, her eyes got a hold of Peter, who was standing with a black candle in his right hand and an empty bottle of absinth in the other, and now that Olivia knew what to look for, she quickly took a note of Mortimer's wet clothes and hair.

„Step away from her, or we'll see just how much damage fire can do!", Peter commanded in a firm voice, though Olivia clearly could hear the slight quiver that betrayed how worn out her friend actually was. After what he had been through, it seemed like a miracle that he was still standing up.

The woman's lips trembled at those words and she began saying: „Now, don't do anything h–".

Then everything seemed to happen at once and in slow-motion all at the same time. Behind the counter of the bar closest to Peter, a man in a black suit appeared with a Colt .22 in his hand, silently, slowly, and neither Olivia nor her adversary perceived him before the silent _click _of a gun being cocked reached their ears. Peter must have heard it too, because he turned to look around in the same instant the woman screamed „No!" and used her inhuman speed to close the distance between herself and the man with the gun within a fraction of a second. And still she was too slow. The man fired and the next chain of events reminded Olivia of a pile of dominoes falling – once they were set in motion, nothing could stop them. The baroque lady smashed into the gunman in the same exact moment he left off the shot, making him lose his perfect aim at Peter's back. Then he was hurled into the rows of liquor bottles behind him and brought them down with a loud crashing sound that probably drowned out the grunt of pain Peter made when he was hit. Olivia knew he had uttered it, because she saw his lips moving, saw how his face turned into a grimace of surprise, fear, ache and how he dropped to the ground as if all life had left his body instantly. While falling, he lost his grip on the candle, and a yelp escaped the woman's throat as the burning threat crept closer towards the man in the cage. Again she was only a heartbeat too slow to prevent the flames from welcoming the new nourishment greedily and setting Mortimer on fire within seconds.

Though Olivia saw what happened to the candle, then to the man in chains and finally saw how the woman stormed into the cage with a panicky scream, it held no meaning. Her world stopped making sense the instant the bullet had entered Peter's body. She had no idea where he had been hit, but the subsequent fall and his current lack of movement could only mean it had been dire, maybe even mortal. She only realized she had held her breath when her lungs started screaming for air once more, but she didn't allow herself to take the deep breaths her body required. Instead she used the rush of adrenaline at the terrible sight to ignore her wrecked back, head, wrist to get to her feet and make a feeble attempt at running towards her friend. After the woman's brutal attack, there were no motoric skills left for Olivia to help her, but somehow in a mix of stumbling, falling, getting up and pressing on she managed to reach Peter's side and simply let herself plunge down next to him with a desperate: „Peter!" on her lips.


	24. Chapter 24

He was lying on his side, legs pulled up to his chest, hands pressed on his waist, and the first thing Olivia noticed was that he was still breathing in and out. Slowly, strained, but breathing. Thank God. She never thought she had been so relieved to see the natural movement of a chest heaving and falling. The next thing to catch her eye was the blood gushing out between Peter's fingers, showing far too clearly how much harm the bullet had done to his abdomen.

„Oh... Oh God...", Olivia brought forth between clenched teeth. From the cage, she heard the scream of a burning Mortimer and the curses the woman cast out; probably while trying to extinguish the fire or free the trapped guy. She thought she could make out a creaking sound, like metal scraping on metal, and though she knew that should worry her, every thought in her mind was directed at Peter. She was already about to use her lace skirt as a makeshift bandage, when an agonized cough and a hand, that grabbed her by the wrist, made her halt her efforts. Peter's eyelids fluttered and his lips tried to form a single word, which Olivia didn't understand at first. But she did feel the cold, sharp pieces of metal on her skin and managed to put one and one together. The word was „Keys" and of course he was right. She wasn't at all happy to leave his side before she could tape up his wound, but if that woman managed to free the other guy, there wouldn't have been anything Olivia could have done to save Peter anyways. A quick look at the cage showed her that his worries were quite justified: The baroque lady had actually managed to douse the flames and now they were both pulling hard at the chains. Olivia could see how the ceiling of the cage bended downwards with each tug. The chains were creaking in protest and probably wouldn't hold much longer, so there was no time to waste. She took the set of keys from Peter's fingers – thereby noticing how terribly cold and soaked with sweat his skin was despite the intense heat of the spreading fire – got to her feet and darted towards the cage door. Not a second too late. The chains gave another protesting groan and then they finally yielded at the next combined effort of their two adversaries and were simply ripped out of the ceiling by brute force. Olivia reached the door and slammed it shut the instant Mortimer lost his balance due to the sudden freedom and tumbled into the tall woman. Olivia had only this one chance and knew that far too well, but everything just happened so fast that she almost didn't think. _Large lock, large key_, so with flying fingers, she found the largest key in the chain and grasped it between her thumb and her forefinger. The pair in the cage were already picking themselves up as she hammered the key into the lock – the right one, thank God! –, and she was instantly rewarded with a screech of panic as the woman understood what was about to happen. But the damn key just wouldn't turn! Olivia pressed against the bars with all her bodyweight, trying desperately to move the small metal piece to the right, and made a jubilant sound when she heard the satisfying _click_ that told her she had succeeded. At least she thought so for a fraction of a second – right up until the point where strong hands got a hold of her hair and her sprained wrist. She managed to pull the key out of the lock instinctively just before she was flung brutally face first against the bars and was confronted with those creepy fangs once again.

„Open – that – door!", the woman growled in a voice so deep and piercing it almost hurt Olivia physically. The pressure on her wrist was intensified and made her yelp in pain, but there was no way, _no way_ she would do as she was told and release those monsters into the world again. She would have liked to tell them just that, but her voice broke as the woman turned her wrist into an unnatural position that made the tears gush out of Olivia's eyes.


	25. Chapter 25

„The door!", her attacker reminded her and – suddenly loosened her vice-like grip as Mortimer yelled: „WATCH OUT!" and threw himself against her with all his might. Behind him, an area of flames exploded so bright and hot, it hurt Olivia's face and bare hands that were too close to the source of the fire. But compared to the captured couple, she was the lucky one. Both screamed in sheer terror, and Olivia could see the flames licking at the woman's hair as well as Mortimer's suit. In the commotion, she managed to pull herself completely free and threw the key as far away from its lock as possible.

That was when she heard Peter call out: „GET BACK!". After years of working together, she knew better than to question an order like this. With a jump that she hadn't thought possible for her battered body, she threw herself away from the cage and into safety behind a tossed over coffin, only registering out of the corner of her eyes how two explosions more followed the first, erupting in the middle of the cage and showering Mortimer and the woman in hot, orange flames. She barely dared to take a peek, but her curiosity got the best of her – _again_, she thought grimly,_ I really have to work with that _– and she risked a look in the direction of Peter's voice. The sight was as soothing as it was unsettling. Her friend was standing... well, leaning on the bar counter behind the cage and had just inflamed a bottle of absinth with a cloth in it, throwing it more or less sure-handedly towards the cage. He was shaking visibly and his throw wasn't nearly as strong as it should have been, but it did the trick anyways as Olivia could hear from the mortified screams. She thought she could make out the woman's voice begging to let her out through the roaring of the fire, and the sound made her shudder. Behind Peter, the whole area was alit, the fire feeding greedily on wood, velvet and plastic alike, and once in a while its crackle was drowned out by glass exploding due to the extreme heat. As she looked around, she saw that the whole club was sharing the bar area's fate and just then the first part of the ceiling came crashing down in one corner. Far away still, but the gesture was clear. They had to get out of here, and fast!

Peter had found a new bottle to misuse, but another explosion close by made him stagger and he collapsed once more, the last bottle with the burning cloth still clasped in his hands. Dammit! How on earth he had made it this far with a wound like that was beyond her, but it couldn't have done anything good for his body, all the more considering his recent blood loss. Olivia scrambled to her feet and began running... tumbling towards him and did her best to ignore the gruesome screeches of sheer anguish coming from the cage as she passed it by. Then she was by Peter's side and hauled the bottle away from his hands and into the already lively flames in the cage. To her right, a large piece of the wooden ceiling rained down and brought with it empty boxes that probably were stored in the attic.

Peter had lost consciousness, but the second Olivia touched his back he awoke with a start and stared at her through hazy eyes. She didn't have any time to wait for him to get out of his daze, as the burning pieces that hailed down around them told her quite insistently, so she just put her arms underneath his upper body and hoped that he was alert enough to get the hint. Her strained wrist screamed in protest and didn't make her plan any easier, but she managed to ignore the shooting pain by gritting her teeth. It took her five precious seconds to get him into an upright position even with his help, and five more to get him up and standing, but the staggering forward part came quite naturally to him as the rest of the bar succumbed to the raging fire and crashed down just an inch to their right.

He was heavy, almost too heavy for her, as she supported his body with her own, but what choice did she have? No way was she leaving him behind in this death trap!

„G-go!", she heard him whisper weakly as if he had read her mind. Instead of answering, she just fastened her grip on his arm and chest and gathered every grain of strength left in her body to half drag, half carry him towards the entrance. As they passed the cage, she noticed the lack of movement and sounds, but the thought didn't give her any satisfaction. It had been self-defense, but noone deserved this fate. But then her thoughts wandered back to Emily and her slit throat and she caught herself thinking that these two maybe just did.

Peter's groan of pain brought her back to the here and now and she hurried onward, putting one foot in front of the other almost mechanically, left, right, left, right, trying not to panic too much as half the dancefloor ceiling smashed down where they had been standing just seconds before. The heat was terrible and seemed to grow more intense by the second, and thick smoke drifted all around them by now, making it hard to breathe.

„Y-your not one to... to follow orders... are you?", Peter muttered with a tormented cough. She could feel how he tried to pull himself together, could feel his muscles tense underneath her fingertips, but that also meant that the blood just flowed even more freely. How much had he lost already? 3 pints? 4? She had no way of knowing, but it was easy for her to see that he couldn't take much more, and he probably knew that as well and was just trying to be brave for her sake. That thought filled her with a soothing warmth quite different from the dangerous heat around them. So she forced herself to smile and retorted: „Considering that I am your superior officer, I wouldn't get too cocky." She was rewarded with the hint of a grin that must have cost her friend quite an amount of energy, but he didn't show and even managed to take some of his weight off her, making it possible for them to move just a little bit faster.

Visibility was almost down to zero when they finally reached the door leading into the corridor that would bring them to the main entrance, and by now Olivia really had trouble breathing. While supporting Peter, she couldn't cover her mouth to keep the smoke at bay, and she could see that her friend was fighting with his respiration as well. Dizziness blurred her already impaired vision, the mechanical rhythm of her steps was interrupted by her feet stumbling over each other and it took her all of her remaining strength and balance not to fall. Somewhere in the distance she thought she could hear the sound of sirens, the faint sounds of a great crowd of people, so she knew they had to be close.

Unfortunately, close didn't always mean safe. Olivia had never tried to suffer from smoke intoxication and the sudden wave of nausea that rushed through her overwhelmed her completely and the next thing she knew, she was tripping. Shifting between consciousness and blacking out, she somehow managed to catch most of their fall with her own body in order to protect Peter, but still the sudden impact must have been too much for him to take, because when she got back to the surface after fainting once more, she could feel his heavy body on her chest. And she couldn't move. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. Panic and darkness fought a violent battle in her mind, spurred by the crackle of flames closing in, spurred by lack of oxygen, spurred by her fear for their lives. With her last grain of strength, she tried to lift Peter's body from her own, failed... felt him crash down on her again... then...

...then, all of a sudden, she could feel how the pressure was taken off her chest. Voices reached her ears, muffled, incomprehensible, but definitely not Peter's. Olivia tried to open her eyes, but her lids were so heavy it was an impossible task. Strong arms slid under her back, lifted her gently, something was put on her face, something cold and hard, and only a heartbeat later she could breathe again, breathe, breathe, breathe. The air tasted dusty, dry, and yet it was the most fantastic thing she had ever inhaled. Once more she tried to pry her eyelids open, and though they only moved a little bit, it was enough for her to discern a bright, flashing blue light stemming from several sources. The faint sounds of the crowd had swollen to a full-blown chatter, and somewhere she could hear orders being bellowed. Above her, a face appeared that she had a hard time to recognize. It was a man, but he was all blurry and shadow-y. When he heard his voice, however, she remembered.

„Bet you wish it hadn't been a federal case after all, eh, Agent Dunham?", officer Hanley told her while carrying her towards an ambulance. Though his words could have been an expression of mockery, all Olivia picked out of them was the honest worry that was underlined by the look in his eyes. And she was infinitely thankful for the sentiment.

Then the memory of what had just happened rushed over her and she tried to ask „What about Peter?", but the oxygen mask and her still raw throat made it impossible to utter just a single word. Hanley still understood and said with a calming tone: „He's being taken care of. Don't you worry."

It wasn't the answer she had hoped for, but it was enough for now, her body decided, and she blacked out for good before Hanley could even place her on a gurney.


	26. Chapter 26

**Epilogue**

Olivia's sleep must have been deep and dreamless, because the next thing she discerned was the touch of a hand on her shoulder. Her eyelids flew open and a name escaped her throat as if on reflex: „Peter!". Pictures of the burning building, of the two crazed monsters, of all the blood, blood, blood flashed through her mind, of black, billowing smoke and sirens, and above all Peter's wrecked body, the terrible gunshot wound, his lacerated back... So much blood! It was only when the bright, white light stung her eyes and she felt a soft mattress underneath her back that she realized she wasn't outside the club anymore. Above her hovered a familiar face, but as had been the case with Hanley it took her a while to remember who the person with the large, concerned eyes was.

„A-astrid?", she mumbled after a minute or so. Her tongue felt heavy, fuzzy, as if it had been anesthetized, and the name sounded somehow wrong in her ears. But Astrid just smiled and padded her on the shoulder that she had never lost her comforting grip on.

„He's alright", she whispered and added something that Olivia didn't even hear. It didn't matter. Alright. Peter was alright. Thank God. Relief washed through her, soothing her, and suddenly she felt sleepy, far too sleepy to stay awake for much longer, and so she drifted off again, back into a peaceful sleep.

The next time she woke up, Astrid was sitting in a chair beside the bed, reading in some kind of magazine. Next to her, a bunch of pretty flowers had been placed on a table, and beside that Olivia discovered an IV stand, which appertaining tube went into her right hand. The left one was heavily bandaged and hurt like hell when she tried to use it. Actually, just about everything did. Especially her mind.

„Careful with that", she heard Astrid say as a comment on her trying to raise her arm. „It's broken."

Broken. Huh. That explained so much. Broken... Oh God...

„P-peter?", she whispered and found that her tongue was much easier to move this time while at the same time feeling like she had rubbed it on sandpaper. Ouch. But probably not nearly as hurtful as Peter's back. Or his stomach. Or his head. Or...

Astrid got up and interrupted her thoughts with one of her brilliant smiles. „They got him on the operating table just in time, don't worry. The bullet hadn't hit anything vital, and he got a transfusion for the blood loss. A few weeks' rest and he'll be as good as new. Don't worry, Olivia. He'll make it."

Though Olivia still felt relieved deep inside, she couldn't control the anger that grew in her now that she hadn't had to fight for Peter's and her own life anymore. „But I do worry!", she exclaimed and made a feeble attempt to sit up, but had to find out that she couldn't even raise her head more than a few inches. Still she went on: „It's my fault he got into this mess in the first place!" Every single thought of blame and fear and anger about her rash actions that she had managed to keep at bay until now came flooding back to her and she felt tears sting in her eyes, but was somehow able to fight them down.

Astrid raised an eyebrow at her violent reaction and Olivia couldn't blame her. Usually she was the quiet, logical one, thinking before she spoke, but recent events seemed to have really gotten to her. „This mess?", her friend asked in a surprised tone of voice when Olivia didn't act upon her facial expression. „Maybe I should tell you a thing or two about the cute couple you brought down two days ago."

The question hidden in those words was rhetorical, and Astrid treated it as such by simply ignoring Olivia's attempt at interrupting her with a „Two days...?" and pulling a file from her bag. Though her mind was still trying to tell her how stupid and selfish and reckless she had been, her curiosity piped up and she listened intently while Astrid read aloud.

„Morgan and Mortimer Croft, twins, 33 years old. Former Cortexiphan trial children." At that, Astrid and Olivia exchanged a long, sad look that more than any words captured their mutual discontent concerning Walther's and Bell's experiments. „According to Walther, they showed real promise. Fantastic regenerative abilities that could be transferred to others. Unfortunately, they were joined by some mutations after some years on the drug; according to Peter, you did acquaint yourself with them, so no need for details." Olivia nodded in agreement and thought back at the gruesome fangs with a shudder. „The interesting part is, according to this file, they both died in a fire at their parent's home. The whole family did."

„Then how...", Olivia began and Astrid explained eagerly: „Our best guess is that they faked their own deaths, somehow. There wasn't much left to identify, but there were four people, two adults and two children, and what was left was a clear match. But now that we knew what to look for, it was easy to follow their trail through unsolved murder cases where the victims were completely drained for blood. A couple of years ago, a club was opened in L.A., but it burned down after almost a year and killed thirteen people. Next, they tried in New York, then Seattle. It's like they attempted to criss-cross the country to bury their tracks. The same M.O. over and over again. They would probably have done the same here if you hadn't stopped them."

Astrid's words did soothe her just a little bit, just enough for the self-destructive thoughts to crawl back into the back of her mind.

„But how... how did you... And...", Olivia tried to ask, but there were too many questions wandering around in her head and she didn't know with which one to start.

„If you're wondering where the rescue came from all of a sudden, it's with courtesy from yours truly", Astrid replied with a smile. „Remember that cute coroner who was supposed to call you?"

Of course Olivia did. The whole thing had started for real when they had found the body. So she nodded; though she really couldn't remember whether the man had been 'cute'.

„Well, he called shortly after you had left and told me that we should take a look at the body. Once Walther heard about this, he was hooked, so we drove down there and had to agree with the man: That poor girl was completely drained for all blood, and the slit throat was nothing but a ruse to hide two tiny holes in her neck. You know how Walther is – 'This reminds me of the time Belly and I...', 'I remember when Belly and I...', … Well, you get the idea. And so did he. He found the file with Morgan and Mortimer, but that wasn't enough. Luckily for you, your sister called too and wanted to tell you that she remembered something Emily had said, and from that point on it wasn't too difficult to see the greater picture. And to send for backup."

„I see...", Olivia muttered silently. So _luck._ _Luck_ had been the only thing standing between her and a death that could have come directly out of a horror movie. „Rachel, is she...?"

„She has been here together with Ella yesterday and earlier today, and she will be back soon. She's pretty shaken up after everything, but we've offered her psychological assistance and once it became clear that you would both make it through, she got a lot better. We all did."

Olivia sighed inaudibly and closed her eyes just for a second. She could feel that her body still needed rest and probably a few days' worth of sleep, but there was something else she needed to know before that: „When... when I was in there... it was like I had been poisoned or hypnotized or something like that. What was that?", she wanted to know.

„It was some kind of poison. According to Walther, they used it to calm down their victims – some kind of natural anesthetic that calms you down at first and then … well, frankly, makes you high. Once you've been injected with it, they could make you do anything they wanted and you would be happy to do it. Add the right atmosphere and you have yourself a very drinkable crowd and no witnesses. Unless, of course, you're immune."

„Like Peter", Olivia remarked.

„It wasn't a natural immunity", Astrid explained. „Do you remember that stuff he drank in the lab? Apparently the enzymes in the liquid neutralized the poison from those two psychopaths too. We found it in its natural form in samples from Emily's blood."

Of course Olivia remembered, and the memory brought with it another wave of bad conscience. „I'm sorry we didn't tell you", she said. „We should have informed you –"

Astrid gave her a warm smile with just a hint of a lopsided grin. „I thought it was just a date? At least that's what Peter said. I think his exacts words where: 'Next time, I choose the time and place.'"

Olivia couldn't help but smile at that last comment herself. Even after being through hell for her, he was still trying to protect her. She remembered that warm feeling she had had inside when he had tried to make her smile despite his terrible condition; it was the exact same thing she felt now. And apparently, it was pretty obvious to Astrid what she was thinking, because her friend and colleague just kept smiling. _Time to change the subject_, Olivia thought and said with a grin: „Date or no date, Broyles is still going to kill me, isn't he?"

„We'll see", Astrid replied more or less reassuringly. „Now I'll get something to eat and you should get some more sleep. The aftereffects of the poison are quite strong, so Walther thinks it'll take a few days more to wear completely off." When she got up, she placed the file on Morgan and Mortimer on Olivia's bedside table and looked at her one more time before leaving. „Everything's alright now, Olivia. That's what counts." Then she gave her another smile and closed the door on her way out.

Olivia looked at the white wall in front of her for a while, recapping what she remembered, until she could feel how drowsiness was about to overtake her once again. In her head, Astrid's words kept spinning right up till her eyes closed shut: _Everything's alright now. That's what counts_.


	27. Chapter 27

„No, I am obviously not joking", James Warner said in as calm a voice as he could muster and stared at the two empty tables that had held the burnt remains of a brother and a sister in their early 30s. Emphasize on _empty_. At the other end of the line, he heard the voice of that cute FBI-agent he had met two days earlier. She was upset in a way he really didn't understand. No, of course bodies just didn't disappear, but even in the few cases where they did, a logical explanation could be found. „The bodies are gone and the door was broken open."

Her next question made it sound as if she feared that they had simply returned to life and walked away: „From the inside?". Maybe she was a little bit too freaky to date, he thought with a sigh. Typical.

He hadn't taken a closer look before now, but at her words he couldn't help but inspect the remains of the door in detail. He almost dropped the phone. She was right, and that had to be a bad joke.

„Yes", he whispered in disbelief. „Yes, from the inside."

„I'll call you back", she said before hanging up and he couldn't help but discern the panic in her voice.


End file.
